<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Under Pressure by AnnEllspethRaven, Zhie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984776">Under Pressure</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven'>AnnEllspethRaven</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie'>Zhie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Apologies, Bunniverse, Clinical Depression, Codependency, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escaping domestic violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Failed Relationship, Healing, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Past Domestic Violence, Past Relationship(s), Rescue Missions, Reunions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:42:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon and Erestor are ready to take the next step in their relationship, but Glorfindel's sudden return gives them much to consider about the future.</p><p>Not enough Bunniverse for you on AO3? Drop by Discord's hottest new nightclub, Bunniverse. This club has everything -- purple plot bunnies, Elves who dress like peacocks, mixed drinks named after Feanor’s bad decisions, a guy named Teleporno who thinks he’s the bouncer but is just there for people coming in read his nametag. Fall down the purple rabbit hole at https://discord.gg/CHqptmUnTp</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Angrod | Angaráto/Edhellos | Eldalótë, Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Ereinion Gil-galad/Original Female Character(s), Erestor/Fingon | Findekáno, Erestor/Fingon | Findekáno/Glorfindel, Gildor Inglorion/Maedhros | Maitimo, Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Male Character(s), Meleth (Nurse of Eärendil)/Rog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story comes after Perceptions and before Heal the Pain in the Bunniverse.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The magnificent snow fortress gleamed in the pale winter sun. Modeled after architectural elements in Gondolin of old, the highlight was the towers and walkways opposite each other with a fair distance in between, for elflings and not-so elflings to enjoy snowball battles. Rog had spared no effort, in this humorous tribute to his military past. From the crenellated ramparts to the icy moat, the entire structure was nothing if not impressive. At least, the young ones certainly thought so. Fingon watched as a snowball lobbed by one of his descendants arced harmlessly over their heads.</p>
<p>Fingon could do little more than watch.  He was seated and bundled, swaddled moreso, in the largest, fluffiest blanket that was to be found.  “I am so cold.  I clearly need to prepare better on excursions like this.”</p>
<p>Erestor reached over and patted Fingon on the head.  “Do you want me to see if they have coffee or cocoa?”</p>
<p>After careful consideration, Fingon asked, “...can I bathe in it?”</p>
<p>Rog, who had been sitting with them nearly since their arrival, frowned deeply with disapproval.  “That sounds extremely inappropriate.”</p>
<p>“If I was built to withstand the perils of varied weather, then perhaps I would not entertain these ideas,” Fingon took note of a child running in his direction, and he wriggled his arms out from his nesting and reached them out to him, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.  </p>
<p>The child continued momentum as he ran to Fingon and did not stop until he was in his lap.  “Grandpa, look! Nelvendë gave it to me!  It has working wheels!”  Elerondo weaved a toy cart around the mugs and plates on the table.</p>
<p>Fingon pushed a jar of mustard that was near the edge closer to the middle when Elerondo’s elbow almost knocked it to the ground.  “Look at that.  I never had such neat toys when I was growing up.”</p>
<p>“Very impressive,” agreed Erestor.</p>
<p>Fingon’s arm shot out to grab a crystal salt shaker that almost became a casualty of playtime.  “You could tie a string to it and attach it to your toy horses.  Then your horses could pull it around.”</p>
<p>“My horses do not have wheels,” mused Elerondo.  “Grandpa, I need new horses.  Can you make me new horses?”</p>
<p>“I can only make horses like the ones you already have.  You would need to find someone with the right skills to craft horses with wheels.”</p>
<p>“What if horses were born--what if they were born with wheels, Grandpa?!  Those would be the best horses!” declared Elerondo.</p>
<p>“Be careful what you wish for, with horses,” warned Erestor playfully.</p>
<p>Before Elerondo had a chance to ask just what Erestor meant, his father gave a whistle, which caused the lad to bolt up like a meerkat while still in Fingon’s lap.  “Time to open the presents!” called Ereinion.</p>
<p>Elerondo grabbed his toy, wrapped his arms around Fingon’s neck, and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.  “Presents!  Then cake!  Love you, Grandpa, bye!”</p>
<p>“Make sure you thank all of your friends!” shouted Fingon before he burrowed back into his nest with a satisfied smile on his face.  “I was more than content when I reconnected with my children, and met my grandchildren, but I realize every time one of them is born how much I missed in those years I sheltered myself away, thinking I was unworthy of them.”  Erestor reached over and gave Fingon’s bundled arm a squeeze--at least, he hoped under the blanket that was Fingon’s arm or something he was squeezing.  “I enjoyed being a father when they were all little, but there is something extremely enjoyable about grandchildren.  And great-grandchildren.”  Fingon pulled the blanket closer.  “And great-great-grandchildren, but they make me feel old.”</p>
<p>“I thought you only had one great-great-grandchild,” said Erestor, who was still working on keeping all of the genealogical lines straight at the family gatherings he had attended.  </p>
<p>“There will be more before I know it,” predicted Fingon.  “Still makes me feel old when that chubby hand extends and a stubby finger points at me and asks ‘Who dat?’ and when the child is told, I get that stink-eye look and scrunched up nose, and the defiance over hugs, but as soon as the little one gets sleepy, who gets asked for when it comes to tucking in and lullabies?  This guy,” he said, pointing to himself. “I was a pretty good dad, but I am a really fabulous grandfather.”</p>
<p>“I would argue you are generally good with children,” summarized Rog, who had observed Fingon help a lost child find his parents, watched him give at least a dozen youngsters horsey back rides (despite three warnings from Ereinion of ‘Dad, you are going to hurt yourself’), and listened to him lead a small group of the little ones in several songs when Ereinion and Sinaryn needed a distraction to get the cupcakes and presents moved to the right spot.  “Elerondo does seem to have quite a lot of energy compared to his counterparts, who look like they will need naps when they get home.  He is a very spirited lad.”</p>
<p>“And that is how you know he is related to me.  Except the immunity to the cold.  Obviously, that came from the other side of the family,” said Fingon.</p>
<p>“Fingon, I want one of those.”</p>
<p>Fingon narrowed his brows.  “One of those what?  A child?  I mean, I am ready to do just about anything for you, but stealing an egg is frowned upon.  I will do it for you, but we might get exiled.  People seem to hate it when you steal their children, even when they say things like ‘I have children, going cheap’.  Except with penguins.  Two male penguins raising a chick is one of the most beautiful things I saw in my life.  Not that it will get me to go near the Helcaraxë ever again, mind you.”</p>
<p>“No...as much as I appreciated your willingness to, uh, liberate a child from their family for me...pass.  That snow palace. That is what I want.”</p>
<p>“Snow fortress,” corrected Rog.</p>
<p>“Fortress. Mini House of the Hammer of Wrath. Whatever.  Complete with a snuggle room for the two of us. With the thermal pool somehow being the centerpiece. A watery courtyard, with a fountain of warm water.  Do you think Ecthelion could build a fountain that could stay warm without melting the ice?  He probably could,” mused Erestor.</p>
<p>“And how am I supposed to manage this?” asked Fingon as his eyebrows migrated in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>Erestor shrugged and smirked.  “You were a King; I thought you knew how to do these things.  Your brother built an entire city in secret.  All I want is a snow palace.  Fortress,” he self-corrected.</p>
<p>Rog rolled his eyes.  “Is he still being trouble?”</p>
<p>“You have no idea,” Fingon said as he extracted himself enough to lean over and kiss Erestor affectionately.  “But he is my trouble, and I intend to keep him,” he vowed as he rubbed their noses together.</p>
<p>Erestor idly reached a hand out and began toying with Fingon’s long braids.  Sometimes they were wound with gold, but Fingon had taken to using ebony and blue ribbons more often.  Today, there were silver strands in some of them on account of being at the family event.  “I was thinking of growing mine out like this, Rog. Maybe weave red into them as a reminiscence of my time in your house?  Are you twitching yet?”  Erestor’s eyes sparkled merrily.</p>
<p>“Now you are just being a little shit,” Rog accused under his breath.</p>
<p>Meleth was on her way to the table now that the children were enjoying their cupcakes and punch.  She had with her a small tray with cupcakes for the adults and more refreshing adult beverages, as well as a mug of something steaming for Fingon.  She set the mug before Fingon as she said, “I think that would look lovely, Erestor, though I think with how fine your hair is, you should braid it while wet and then unbraid your hair when dry.  It will cause a lovely cascade of waves.”</p>
<p>Rog rolled his eyes and harrumphed as he selected a cupcake.</p>
<p>Fingon picked up the mug and smiled at Erestor.  “Now I want to see you with wavy hair.”</p>
<p>“I could try that. For you, I would...though mine is nowhere near as long as yours. But perhaps that should wait until our return home. We should leave Rog with some of his sensibilities yet intact. He did, after all, have to put up with me for a long time,” Erestor said softly, suddenly remembering more than he wished to. “But no one ever grabbed my hair in battle,” he teased.</p>
<p>“What?” Fingon asked, perplexed and clearly missing something.</p>
<p>“Battle,” Erestor repeated. “One of a list of reasons why those in Rog’s Army had to have shorn hair.”</p>
<p>Fingon now appeared far more interested. “Oh, do tell,” he smiled.  “I take it I would not have made it past the review board.”</p>
<p>“Due to my extreme respect for your brother, I will abstain in giving you my full opinion,” replied Rog.</p>
<p>Fingon leaned forward a little more, evidently more interested.  “Oh, come on.  None of us are lords or kings anymore.”</p>
<p>Rog scrutinized Fingon.  “If you would like my honest assessment, I shall deliver it.”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>“Rog…” warned Meleth.</p>
<p>Rog cleared his throat.  “You heard him.  He wants to know,” defended the burly elf.</p>
<p>Meleth shook her head and walked back to pour more juice for the celebrating children.</p>
<p>“Well?” prodded Fingon.  Erestor settled back and watched them both curiously.</p>
<p>“You need a haircut,” stated Rog.</p>
<p>“Just one?” asked Fingon mischievously.</p>
<p>Rog made a noise that sounded like a growled snort.  “Just because someone can grow hair this long does not mean they should.”  He motioned down at the floor where braids curled into little piles everywhere.  “Someone could step on it.  Trip on it.  It could catch fire--”</p>
<p>“In here?  Doubtful,” murmured Erestor.</p>
<p>“--or a dog could grab it and tug.  There are a number of reasons it should be kept to a reasonable length.”  Rog lifted his mug and added, “If you had joined my army, I would have cut it for you myself.”</p>
<p>“You are very passionate about this,” remarked Fingon.  </p>
<p>This was not Rog’s only opinion, and he continued his assessment.  “You are reckless and prone to endangering yourself and others.  You act before you think.  You take risks that are unnecessary and you do not calculate the consequences to yourself or others.”</p>
<p>“Is this in regards to something specific, or--”</p>
<p>Rog began ticking items off on his fingers.  “Participating in the Kinslaying.  Seeking Maedhros on your own.  Fighting a dragon without knowing the capabilities.  Waging war against Morgoth in haste.  Traveling back to Middle-earth to find Maglor.”</p>
<p>Fingon was also ticking off the things that Rog mentioned.  “That is still a sixty percent success rate.  Better than half, which is your odds flipping a coin.”</p>
<p>“Sixty percent is failing for all intents and purposes when it comes to classroom instruction,” argued Rog.  “Sixty percent when you are playing with lives is unacceptable. I would have whipped your ass into shape if you had been in my army.”</p>
<p>“Noted,” said Fingon.</p>
<p>“You never had any military experience, did you?  No formal training.  Did you know, even your brother set his pride aside and had Ecthelion and Egalmoth train him to be a soldier.  That is why Gondolin was under his control long after Hithlum fell into enemy hands.”</p>
<p>“Not that long,” argued Fingon a little louder than he intended.  “You barely made it another forty years before Morgoth found you.  At least I did not die hiding behind, what was it, six walls? Seven walls?  Sending ships to grovel to the Valar to come help you?  I might be vain and impulsive and prideful, but at least I am no coward.”</p>
<p>Rog glared.</p>
<p>Meleth sidled over, a practiced pleasant expression plastered across her face. “Erestor! So lovely to see you!” Arguably, volumes unspoken lay behind her mein but they were not the only things she felt determined should remain in another time. “Gentlemen, this is a children’s party; I know I can trust that old political arguments from the First Age shall lie unspoken on this occasion? For if they will not you will hear my grievances. Trust me when I warn you that you do not want that.” She spoke to Erestor mostly, but her eyes flashed upon Fingon and Rog in turn before she walked away.</p>
<p>As if it was preplanned should the two warriors become engaged in an unpleasant political debate, Ereinion was suddenly looming over his father, his hands on Fingon’s shoulders.  “Are you enjoying the party, father?” asked Ereinion.</p>
<p>Fingon tilted his head back to look up at his son.  Even if they had both been on their feet, Fingon would still have had to have looked up; at least this way, he could blame his posture and the chair.  “It is a lovely party.”</p>
<p>“And you are...behaving yourself?”  Ereinion raised a brow as he squeezed the tense muscles of Fingon’s shoulders a few times.</p>
<p>Fingon made grumbly noises for a few moments and then said, “Sorry.”</p>
<p>Ereinion cleared his throat and gave a nod in Rog’s direction.  </p>
<p>Fingon slouched a little more.  “I apologize, Rog.  I did ask for your opinion.  I am sorry that I insulted you and I do not think you are a coward.  I just run my mouth sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Definitely a sign of someone who is untrained.  If you ever decide your temper is unbecoming, you know where to find me.  I am going to see if Meleth needs any help.  Erestor, it was good to see you.”  Rog stood up, finished his drink, and strolled off in the direction of his wife.</p>
<p>Fingon waited until Rog was out of earshot before he looked up again.  “He started it,” he said.</p>
<p>Ereinion failed to hide his smirk.  “You are worse than the children.”</p>
<p>“What?  No,” refuted Fingon.  “How am I worse?”</p>
<p>“You know better,” answered Ereinion.  He squeezed Fingon’s shoulders once more.  “Really glad you could make it, dad.”</p>
<p>“Me, too.”</p>
<p>Ereinion kissed the top of his father’s head, and then gave Erestor a stern look.  “You have my permission to keep him in line.”</p>
<p>“What?  I am behaving perfectly for a cantankerous old man,” argued Fingon.</p>
<p>“That is my fear.”  Ereinion pointed at Erestor.  “I do not condone corporal punishment used on children, but on grown elves acting like children when administered by their significant other…”  Ereinion lifted his hands up and turned away from them.</p>
<p>Fingon crossed his arms over his chest.  “Well, joke is on you, because...nope, not going to say that, children around, and I would have to shout,” he realized as Ereinion headed back to the tables where the party was taking place.  He looked at Erestor, and only then it dawned on him what he was doing in public.  “Oh, cupcake, I am sorry.  You really cannot take me anywhere, can you?  You really deserve better than a grumpy old washed up ex-athlete kinslayer.”</p>
<p>Erestor opened his mouth to answer, and a lifetime of outrageous moments of...outrageousness and hazy impressions of substance-fueled moments that were assuredly worse than what was remembered, and instead he bit his lip. “Fingon, please listen to me. Of the two of us, I infinitely am gifted with the better side of this arrangement. I am honored to stand here. I would kiss you but I do not believe too much affection in public is something you would…” he tossed back the inky head. “Listen to me. What I am trying to say is that I am yours and you have nothing for which to apologize.”</p>
<p>The mug was set aside and Fingon placed one hand over the top of Erestor’s.  He smiled at the contrast of his own incredibly fair skin against the bronzed tones of Erestor’s fingers.  “Earlier, when you were talking to Rog when we first arrived, Elerondo asked me if he could call you grandpa, too.  Sinaryn suggested that he would need to ask you, and Ereinion said, that it might not be appropriate, unless we were married.  And then he stared at me.”  Fingon mimicked the gaze of scrutiny he had been under earlier.  “So…”  He reached out with his other hand and played with Erestor’s fingers.  “What should I tell my grandson?” he asked, sounding shy in a rare moment of uncertainty.</p>
<p>Erestor grasped at Fingon’s hand; his own began to tremble. Hope, joy and confusion all fought for a place in his wide eyes – fear also, for surely he had not just been asked what he – this was too important for mistakes. “Are y-you asking me to m-mar– “ his throat squeezed shut in terror of being wrong . He wanted so badly to be right; to not fuck this up like he had done with Glorfindel if he was indeed being given this precious chance. Eru knew he had pissed away all the others, to his everlasting shame.</p>
<p>“You deserve certainty.”  Fingon managed to extract himself without letting go of Erestor’s hand.  “I hope you will not find this terribly cliche or old-fashioned,” he said as he took to one knee and looked up at Erestor.  “Oh, damn, this floor is cold,” he admitted.  He adjusted so that his knee just hovered above the ground.  “I want you to be the grandfather to my grandchildren.  I want to spend every moment I can with you.  I want to hold you every time we watch a sunrise or sunset, and I want to be able to tell people I spent the night stargazing with my husband.”  Fingon bit his lip, butterflies creating a flurry in his stomach.  “Eressë, will you marry me?”</p>
<p>Uncaring of the icy chill, Erestor dropped to both knees, tears spilling. He held onto Fingon with both hands. “Yes, Findekáno. I am yours. I will do all I know how to provide you happiness, to place your needs before mine. To love you. I will be loyal to you.” Bending his head, he kissed Fingon’s fingers, beyond overwhelmed. Now the rest of him trembled as much as his hands from an excess of emotion.</p>
<p>Fingon stroked Erestor’s cheek.  “Oh, cupcake.”  He embraced Erestor.  “Eressë.  My Eressë.”  With his hands buried in Erestor’s dark hair, Fingon kissed Erestor as passionately as he dared with a potential audience.  What anyone else was doing at the moment seemed inconsequential, and Fingon was mostly oblivious--until Ereinion was helping both of them up from the ground.  “Am I in trouble for being impulsive again?” asked Fingon as he settled into his seat, feeling too warm for the thick blanket at the moment.  He kept a firm hold on Erestor’s hand.</p>
<p>“Far from it.  Long overdue,” declared Ereinion.  “Congratulations,” he said to them both.  “Sinaryn was just worried you were both going to have trouble getting up again.”</p>
<p>“I am not that old,” Fingon shot back as Ereinion sat down with them.</p>
<p>“Oh, stop snarking and kiss your betrothed again, dad,” scolded Ereinion.</p>
<p>“What he said,” Erestor smiled, wiping at his eyes and recovering himself as best he could.</p>
<p>“Gladly,” said Fingon without fussing, and he did just that.</p>
<p>At the table where gifts were being torn open, one of the boys opined on the table of adults not far from them.  “Eww… your Grandfather just kissed another boy,” the child said disdainfully.</p>
<p>Elerondo just shrugged as he continued to shred the wrappings off of the box he was currently trying to open.  “You are just jealous that you do not have an extra Grandpa.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Far from Formenos, where one couple was planning their future together, in the city of Tirion, another relationship was failing.  Faelion had another of his grand performances this late afternoon, but as usual hardly seemed to care if Glorfindel attended or not. So this time, Glorfindel would choose the latter, and not. What did it earn him, the faithful support he had given to his husband’s career and anything that meant something to Faelion? Only more and more of being made to feel like an expediency, a means to an end. From time to time tears that he blinked back tried to form a mist over his vision as he remembered last night over and over, like a recurring nightmare that would not cease replaying. </p><p>Glorfindel had gone to their bedroom for sleep, and found the knob was stuck--or so he thought.  He jiggled it and found the door locked against him. A moment, a memory, of the times he and Faelion had been on the other side of such a door, with Erestor left alone in the hall.  Now he knew how it felt.  An ear pressed to the barrier revealed the unmistakable noises of sexual pleasure. He was being cast aside for his failure to conceive a child, in favor of an elleth--one who possessed the full set of anatomy that actually could manage that task. </p><p>The locked door stabbed him to the heart. Miserably he sank against the jamb, head in his hands, softly crying. How many times had they done the same to Erestor, paying no mind to whether he felt the same pain? Erestor had been his husband. Was he still? What a hopeless, horrible mess this all was. It hurt, hurt so bad, and he had no one to blame but himself. He thought he loved Faelion. He thought Faelion loved him. Glorfindel looked up dully at the ceiling, tears staining his face. How in fuck had any of this even happened? When did that sweet youth in Gondolin for whom he would do anything become the one who hurt him emotionally and physically, night after night, seemingly without a care for him being a person with needs and wants of his own? Faelion had taken him as if he was a broodmare in spite of everything the healers had said. In spite of the nearly unendurable pain of the attempts. Did any of that matter to Faelion? Or was his goal of fathering a child all their marriage had ever been about?</p><p>It was true that Erestor had become difficult.  He had troubles and issues, ones that apparently were not going to be easily resolved. Or maybe they would never be resolved. But had it really been any secret that the one he had pined for all through the First and Third Ages was deeply troubled? When had Erestor, his reason for dying and returning, become the ellon he could be convinced to abandon? And not just abandon…give up on, was more like it. “Face it, Glorfindel. You were going to take him away to let him die. You were convinced not to care about the same one who risked everything to drag your ass home alive from Nirnaeth. Who was beaten half to death for you--twice. Who never walked away from you, for all his faults and troubles. Fingon did care, about Ress. Believed in him, when you could not be moved to have even a shred of faith in his innocence. Fingon and Elrond gave every effort, and Erestor lived. And Faelion never said a word. Neither did you. If it had been the other way around he never would have cast you aside in the same way. Maybe I have finally found myself where I deserve to be,” he whispered aloud to the empty hallway. “With someone heartless and callous, who gives you as good as you gave. How could it take me this long to see, Faelion, you are not the one I loved in Gondolin? Or was the problem that I never really knew you at all?” Numbly, he shuffled to the sofa and curled up in a blanket. Closing his eyes, he dwelled on his miseries until sleep took him.</p><p>In the morning he rubbed his eyes, sighed, and lit the fire in the stove. Quietly, he began to prepare eggs, toast, sausages, and sliced fruit. He reflected on last night, and tried to calm himself. Maybe it was...he shook his head. Taking the high road had more appeal than starting a fight. When Faeleion appeared, he greeted his husband as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Good morning,” Glorfindel told him, with as much sincerity as he could muster. </p><p>“Morning,” the other ellon smiled. Without a further word, Faelion loaded two plates with food. Glorfindel cheered a little, thinking they would breakfast together. At the last moment, the plates were placed on a tray and whisked off into the bedroom. Wide-eyed, Glorfindel heard the bedroom lock seat itself. Squeezing his eyes shut, his head drooped in shame.</p><p>All this and more ebbed and flowed in his thoughts as his feet departed their home and aimlessly wandered the streets of Tirion. Sometimes he would kick a small pebble ahead of his foot along the road.  Other times he would disinterestedly take in the sights around him. </p><p>He kept walking.  He made it out past the archways that separated the grand city from unincorporated lands, to paths through forests left untamed.  Meandering far enough brought him to Fingon’s theater, which added another wave of unhappiness. He had made strong accusations, but when he had so blatantly favored Faelion over Ererstor, did he...was he really right about that? Had he ever spared a moment to reflect on why Erestor had written those letters to Fingon? The last fight they had had, during which he accused Erestor of adultery while he actually was committing the deed--night after night, uncaring of how it affected his rightful husband. At this moment, the sting of loneliness and loss coursed through him on waves of despair. Understanding that he was rather close to an emotional breakdown, the theater itself seemed like a possible refuge. If nothing else, he needed someplace to hide, be alone, and think.</p><p>Entering the foyer was easy enough; the outer doors remained unlocked, apparently. But once inside, the functional part of the establishment remained off-limits to him: Testing the doors revealed them all to be securely locked. Not so on the opposite side, though. Access to the ruined half of the place had been left unhindered. Cautiously pushing open the door, the odors of decay, dust, and damp assaulted his sensitive nostrils. “What a dump,” he muttered, though, what else it could possibly be under the circumstances eluded him. “What even happened here?” he vaguely wondered, surveilling the charred wreckage and the gaping hole in the roof. Shuffling around, he found one old seat near the sunbeam that had the least damage from questing rodents.  It looked capable of supporting his weight, and he gingerly lowered himself. </p><p>He did not fit in the seat quite so well as he once might have, he noticed uncomfortably. Though he tried not to think of it much, extra weight had accumulated on his frame, and a loss of physical condition along with it. What were once chiseled muscles now felt soft and comfortably plump. It was not so much a surprise as yet another reminder of his unhappy circumstances. As his relationship with Faelion had deteriorated, he turned to the affair of desperation he had begun--with their kitchen. In a way there was some comfort there, recollections of another time in which he had happily prepared food for someone else he had loved. Now he cooked for those under his roof but almost more to distract himself. And if an extra helping of buttered rolls or some thicker slices of leftover roast made it past his lips when he felt melancholy, who really cared? Not to mention, entire pies. “I guess I do not,” he murmured, poking at his soft tummy with a forlorn sigh. But some foods he would not make; the idea of them was shunned. Toasts with vegetables covered in cheese. Licorice. Cheesecake. And peaches would be thrown out of the house, if he saw them. All of those were too painful of a reminder that he had lost Erestor by his own foolishness.</p><p>A Sepulchral quiet filled the formerly grand space. As he watched, dust motes slowly descended in the large shaft of light entering overhead. Maybe he thought he would feel something of Fingon here, but only destruction surrounded him. “How fitting,” he murmured to himself. “Destruction here, destruction there, I fucked my life up everywhere. That even rhymes. Maybe Ress would be proud of me. Ress...” The name...he had not spoken that name aloud in so very long, though the memory of it had not ever been too far from his thoughts. He regarded the golden marriage band on his forefinger, and found that he hated it. Working it off of his finger, he took it in his hand with an idea of throwing it into the rubble, but at the last second slipped it into his pocket. Angry and ashamed, even now he lacked the strength to cast it aside.</p><p>“Oh, Fin, where did you go wrong? Or maybe the better question is, where did you ever go right? Let me see. From the very beginning. You could not manage to come out of your mother a boy or a girl, so that aspect of your life became a mess before you could get a word in edgewise. And who even knows what you are, to this day? In Gondolin I made a baby with my not-actually wife, so does that make me male? Even though I have a... a...oh, say it you coward, a VAGINA,” he shouted in rage to the empty hall, breathing harder now. “Father hated me for being what I was; he certainly did not think I met expectations. I wanted Erestor, but Erestor did not want me. Except when he did; I was good enough when he was shit-faced drunk and he could not remember it in the morning. For that matter so was Faelion, but that is another discussion. Or Gildor, who probably got off between every pair of ass cheeks that caught his attention. Because that is all you were to Gildor, you know, a good fuck. He used you, Glorfindel, and you were so desperate for anything you could get that you could not let him use you enough. Except for the times Ress used you, we should not forget those; those were your tragic successes. </p><p>“Except, Faelion in Gondolin…” Tears welled anew in his eyes. “I loved him so much. And it tore my heart out when I lost him. I lost him, and then I lost my life. I spared no effort trying to protect Erestor, even though he seemed destined to be beyond my reach.</p><p>“Then after two ages of his games, yearning for what could not be yours, you finally gained Erestor when there was nothing left to distract him. Your dream come true, the love of your life at last in your arms. Bound to you. You married him and he married you, and promised he would walk at your side. Oh he did that alright, you just had to not notice the times he detoured away a little to flirt with every flouncy skirt that crossed his path, because....because….did you ever really get an answer why? Or was it just you, ever so content to take whatever lies and evasions he fed you because once again, you wanted love so badly that you could not make sure it came from someone who cherished you as much as you cherished them?”</p><p>He looked down at the floor, fists balling up now in anger as more tears welled in his eyes. “Then came the long years of being taken for granted and the projects and the drugs, always the drugs. Then more Faelion and then there was the three of us until there was not. Faelion came back and your heart ran to greener pastures and it was all going to be wonderful, the three of us. But Erestor could not ever get truly better and…” The rest of the words refused to form.</p><p>“And now you have Faelion. Or perhaps it is better to say, Faelion has you. Same fucking thing all over again, and tonight you will go back for more because apparently that is what you do. Glorfindel the whore, everyone’s golden toy, everyone’s shiny pretty thing that they can play with for a while until they tire of you and move on to someone they really want. Why should Faelion worry? It certainly is not like you are going to go anywhere, and now he has a real woman to knock up. No, you will just wait until he waggles his cock at you. Then there you will be, back down on your knees, begging to have him up your ass--even though he will assuredly aim for a different target and leave you in tears. WHY??” he all but screamed, cheeks reddening, rising to his feet. “WHAT DID I EVER DO BUT WANT TO BE LOVED? WHY?” His vision fogged over as sobs wracked his body and rage to which he had seldom given freedom coursed through him. </p><p>Unthinking, he reached for the decrepit remains of other seats in front of him, and blindly began hurling the pieces with all his strength, uncaring where they flew. Clatters and crashes echoed in the space, alarming the birds that made their homes in some of the rafters above; their cries and flutters added to the racket. Perhaps the muddle of sound prevented Glorfindel from noticing that a particularly sharp cracking noise came secondary to a sizable piece of metal from one of the seats striking a rotted support beam, ruined by years of exposure to sun and rain. Before he could register his danger, a sizable section of the roof and its heavy trusses hurtled downward. There was pain, but unbelievably his head had been spared any serious injury. This felt like a relief until he tried to move, and a sickening awareness came. All four of his limbs were pinned beneath weight he could not hope to budge. The position reminded him of something sexual--something terrifying. He was bound in place, spread out for the taking, but no lover was anywhere near. Panic and struggling yielded nothing but more hurt.</p><p>Reduced to the basest dread he had ever experienced, the understanding dawned that here, there would be no balrog. No heroic end for everyone to admire and commemorate in verse. Only pain, loneliness, and thirst until Námo took him a second time. “Please,” he pleaded, even as he knew there was no one near to hear. He thought of Erestor and even Fingon, both of whom he now felt quite certain he would never see again. Maybe it would be better this way; how could they ever wish to look on him regardless, after what he had done? “I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, Erestor,” he whispered to no one. It was completely dark under all of the debris, and he wondered how long he would linger here and whether anyone would even notice his disappearance. Despondent and filled with regret, he closed his eyes. “I still loved you, and I knew that what I wanted to do was so wrong. How just and fitting for what I did to you, Ress. Now I am the one who will be left to die.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How do you keep getting all of the kings and queens?” Angrod shook his head at his brother, who slid the deck of cards to his sister-in-law to shuffle.</p><p>“Luck of the draw,” Finrod responded.  He lifted his glass of cordial and took a sip before he took up the cards dealt to him by Eldalótë.  “After this game, is anyone interested in switching to blackjack?”</p><p>“Only if you deal, so that the rest of us stand a chance of winning,” said Amarië as she picked up her cards as well.</p><p>“Maybe he can just shuffle,” teased Angrod.  He was sorting his cards with a grin, and looked up for the approval of his wife, but Eldalótë seemed not to have heard his response.  She sat with the deck clutched in one hand and her other palm flat on the table, pressing down.  “Is something the matter?” he asked as he placed a hand upon her shoulder.</p><p>Her face was pale and fear was in her eyes.  “Something is very wrong,” she announced in a shaky voice.  Then she gasped, and the deck fell from her hand and scattered over the table, spilling to the floor.</p><p>Finrod dropped his cards onto the table, and Amarië stood and came around to stand between Eldalótë and her husband.  Angrod took hold of her now empty hand, and Eldalótë squeezed it tightly without appearing she would let go.  “What is wrong, my dear?” Angrod asked.</p><p>A flood of tears came, and what little could be made out amounted to Glorfindel being in trouble, and Angrod being too much of a perfectionist to accept a child he called defective, and by the time Eldalótë stopped speaking, both Finrod and Amarië had backed up a little, but were glaring contemptuously at Angrod.  “I would like a moment alone with my brother,” Finrod said, and he grasped Angrod’s elbow so that he could direct him out of the parlour.  Amarië pulled a chair close to Eldalótë, and tried to comfort her while the brothers disappeared into the kitchen.</p><p>“What was all of that just about?” demanded Finrod once he and Angrod were behind a closed door.</p><p>Angrod ran a hand through his hair.  “It is… complicated, alright?”</p><p>“Sure.  I know how complicated children are.”  Finrod paused.  “You met Gildor.”</p><p>“Not that sort of complicated.  I know how to handle that sort of complicated,” snapped Angrod.</p><p>Finrod crossed his arms over his chest.  “Oh, do you, now?  I want to hear this.”</p><p>Angrod sighed.  “Look, we had very different parenting styles--”</p><p>“I guess so,” interjected Finrod.</p><p>Angrod swallowed and looked away from his brother’s accusing gaze.  “It was a really tough time.”</p><p>“You told me he was irresponsible and did not respond well to discipline.  You told me he ran away,” Finrod reminded his brother.  “Seems there was more to it than that.”</p><p>“Like I said; it was complicated.”  Angrod began to pace the room.  “Your son is just eccentric, like Fingon.  Mine was… unnatural.”</p><p>“Oh… I hope what you just said and what you mean are not the same thing,” warned Finrod.</p><p>Angrod shook his head as he walked.  “It was not about his attraction to men.  I can handle him being a faggot.”</p><p>“Then maybe start by never using that word again,” shot back Finrod in a low growl.  “So if you were so… let me think, what word do I want… accommodating, what did you have an issue with?”</p><p>Angrod stopped to lean against a counter.  “Like I said; it is complicated.  You would never understand.  Your son is generally normal.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it.”  Finrod’s expression resembled that of someone who had sipped spoiled milk.  “You may not think it, but my capacity for understanding is substantial.  Try me.”</p><p>Angrod crossed his arms over his chest.  “I wanted a son.  My wife wanted a daughter.  I told her we needed soldiers; she told me she was not birthing children to send them off to war.  I explained how our child would need to be strong, and a son was better.  We argued until it was born.”</p><p>“Stop.  Listen to yourself.  ‘It’?”  Finrod rubbed his head and sat down.  “People are not ‘it’, Angrod.  Why would you even think that about your child?”</p><p>“What would you call something so unnatural that no one has words for it?” Angrod did not look completely convinced of his words.  In fact, he looked ashamed to say what he was thinking, which appeared to give Finrod a sliver of hope.  “It was a nightmare.  The midwife fainted.  When the child was finally clean, we had it--”</p><p>“Not it,” warned Finrod.  One fist was clenched in his lap.</p><p>“--the healer made an examination.  The midwife and the healers all suggested we make a choice, and the safer choice was to choose female.  I was not about to lose the opportunity--”</p><p>“Angrod, where is this coming from?  Stop referring to your son like he is no more than an object, no more than a...means to some end.  Opportunity?”  Finrod covered his hands over his ears and closed his eyes.  “Your son is the precious combination of the love between you and your wife.  Children are to be cherished and--”  </p><p>And it dawned on Finrod.</p><p>He lowered his hands and stared openly at Angrod.  “You mutilated him.”</p><p>Angrod set his jaw and stared up at the ceiling.  “No one is perfect.  Besides--”</p><p>“Leave the room.”  </p><p>“Felagund--”</p><p>Finrod’s voice wavered more the second time.  “Please.  Leave the room.  I need a moment.”</p><p>With his head bowed, Angrod returned to the room that their wives were in.  Finrod walked to the basin and pumped water until he had enough to splash onto his face.  He took a deep breath and retrieved a dish towel to wipe the water from his brow and chin.  The rag was tossed aside and he concentrated on thoughts of his own son.  He relaxed and reached out.</p><p>In Valimar, Gildor suddenly tilted his head.  He had been taking inventory from the sales for the day and trying to decide on camping for the night or trying to make it home.  The sudden tickle in his mind made him set those thoughts aside.  ‘Father?’</p><p>‘I just wanted to tell you how much I love you and how much I love you, son.’</p><p>Gildor straightened up and called his wandering dogs back to his caravan.  ‘Are you alright?’</p><p>‘Yes, of course.’</p><p>‘Is Mum alright?’</p><p>‘She is fine.  I just miss you and I do not tell you enough how much I love you.’</p><p>‘I love you, too, Papa.’  </p><p>Amarië entered the kitchen, and Finrod broke off the connection with their son without further comment due to the look on her face.  “From what I pieced together, this is not a random outburst.  Something happened, just then, and Eldalótë is in a swoon.  What I got before she passed out the first time is that Glorfindel is in a great deal of personal trouble.  He is hurt, and alone.”</p><p>“Where?” demanded Finrod.</p><p>Amarië shook her head.  “All I got from her was something about destruction and debris everywhere.  And how alone he is.”</p><p>“Fuck...nothing else?”</p><p>Amarië came and put an arm around Finrod.  “I can tell he upset you.  He is out there pacing and muttering.  I finally got him to tend to Eldalótë so that I could check on you.”</p><p>“We can talk about it later.  I need to talk about it later.”  Finrod bit at his fingernails.  “Destruction.  There is no destruction here.  Could it be psychological?  Is Glorfindel in actual danger, or is he remembering Gondolin or some other battle?”</p><p>“She seemed adamant he is dying.”  Amarië pulled another chair close and took hold of Finrod’s other hand.  She squeezed her eyes shut.  “Alright.  When the two of you left the room, she cried a lot, and then she whimpered and told me he was on the ground and pinned down.  He was afraid he would die there, and no one would find him and he would be eaten by the cats.”</p><p>“Wwwwwhat?  Eaten by the cats?”</p><p>“Sorry, let me try to concentrate on the important parts.  He cannot move any of his limbs, and no one would hear him even if he did all out.  He is cold and scared--”</p><p>“Cats.  Go back to the cats.  What kind of cats?  Feral cats?  Hunting cats?” questioned Finrod.  “Is he in the forest?”</p><p>“I do not think so.  Eldalótë said nothing about what he was sending to her looked familiar.  It looked like a warzone.  Everything was broken and burned--”</p><p>“Theatre.  Fingon.  Fingon’s ruined theatre.  The part he destroyed.  It was overrun with cats.  That was why Salgant just left it.  It should have been locked.  Well, it should have been leveled.”  Finrod bolted up.  “That has to be it.  We need to go,” he rushed as he pulled Amarië up from her seat.</p><p>“Someone needs to stay with Eldalótë.”</p><p>Finrod pushed the door open and peeked into the other room.  “You should stay here.  I have things to say to Angrod, but someone needs to check the theatre, because if I am right, that place is the worst hazard in Valinor.  I swear, anytime someone argues with me that Fingon is a mild-mannered librarian never saw that place.”</p><p>“Go.  I will take care of things here,” promised Amarië.  “Go.”</p><p>Finrod marched into the next room and pulled Angrod up by the shoulder.  “Get your boots on.  Time to man up and be a father.”</p><p>Angrod opened his mouth to argue something, but Eldalótë groaned.  Sprawled on the couch, she looked up blindly, tears clouding her vision.  “Save him.  Please.  Save our baby.”</p><p>Sucking in a breath, Angrod hurried to ready himself.  “Finrod, I--”</p><p>“No.  No words.  I do the talking until we get there.”  Finrod had been dumping whatever he could find that might be helpful to tend to Glorfindel’s wounds into a satchel which he slung over his shoulder. “Move,” he demanded as he opened the front door and nodded for them to leave.</p><p>---</p><p>Maedhros had just packed away the final items from the tables that doubled as part of the structure of Gildor’s traveling cart of wares.  Shiny gems crafted by his father and other shiny things from Curufin and Caranthir were found on one side; bows, arrows, and musical instruments handmade by Maglor and Celegorm were kept inside and brought out as requested.  Rope from Maedhros was only crafted as ordered; he could not make it as fast as those with two good hands, but there was an odd novelty for some to have rope from a one-handed man, and Gildor had long ago recognized that by making it rarer, they could charge even more for it.</p><p>Gildor’s assistance would be needed to get the table back into the configuration, but all else was finished.  “Help me with this, hon?”  Maedhros frowned when he did not receive a reply.</p><p>He found Gildor inside, crouched where he seemed to have been counting wooden flutes.  There were three in one hand and one in another.  He looked lost in thought and frustrated.  “Inglorion?”</p><p>Gildor looked up.  His expression was a mix of conflict and worry.  “Glorfindel.”</p><p>Maedhros’ mouth twisted.  “Hmm.”  Glorfindel had been a strange fellow to get to know.  Here and there, Maedhros encountered the gloriously lauded Gondolin hero, but never really had a chance to know him.  He had kept his distance; it seemed wise not to cross paths with the ex-lover of one’s current partner  more than necessary.  He had seemed decent enough.  The last encounter was at a wedding that Gildor changed his mind eighty times on whether to go or not.  They did.  It was awkward; there were whispers in the crowd of those who were gathered.  Before the ceremony, before the refreshments, before they could even really settle in, Gildor had tugged on Maedhros’ sleeve.  “I feel out of place here.”</p><p>“So, we should go.”</p><p>“But I do not want him to think I do not support him.”</p><p>“So, do not go.”</p><p>“But I hate how everyone is looking at us.  Looking at me.”</p><p>“So, we should go.”</p><p>“But then I look like a coward.”</p><p>Maedhros spun around.  “This is their house?” he asked.  There was a large tent on the property that seemed full of unfamiliar people.</p><p>“Yes.  This is their home.  Why?”</p><p>“Come with me.”</p><p>Gildor followed Maedhros across the lawn.  They went around the side of the house until they found a back door.  It was an entrance used by servants, and they were able to slip in amid all of the people coming in and out.  “We can go and see him privately,” explained Maedhros.  “Then, if you want to stay, we stay.  If you want to go, we go.”</p><p>“Great idea, Mae Mae!” </p><p>It only took a few questions to find which room Glorfindel was in to prepare himself.  He was found alone, sitting before a mirror.  He was radiant, and dressed in a long, flowing many-layered robe that appeared to be more of a gown.  It was white and ivory with golden adornments.  He was bejeweled, which was a strange thing for Gildor to see.  Glorfindel had always been modest, preferring plain clothing to heavily embroidered garments.  There were flowers in his hair, which was flowing long, longer than Gildor had ever remembered it being.  Someone had used powders and creams on his face and hands, giving him a softer look, and his lips had a faint tint of pink to them.  The adjective in Gildor’s mind was ‘feminine’; no doubt from the look Maedhros gave him, his thoughts were similar. “Glorfindel!” </p><p>Glorfindel looked up and smiled softly, but there was a slight tremble to his lip.  “Gildor.  I was not sure if you would come.”</p><p>“I love a good wedding!” Gildor stepped forward and bent down in an attempt to gain a hug, but all he managed to get was the slightest pat on the back from Glorfindel.</p><p>“Sorry.  I do not want to wrinkle anything.  It took us hours to get me perfect.”  He lowered his voice, which was meeker than Gildor had recalled.  “I have had to pee for the longest time, but my handmaiden told me it was best to hold it until after the vows.”</p><p>“And through dinner?  I can help you with this if you need,” offered Gildor, but Glorfindel held up his hand.</p><p>“That was his suggestion.  Faelion thinks I could get a water stain on the fabric, and I do not want to think of what it cost to buy this.”  Glorfindel waved his hand at the flowing material.  “I want this to be perfect for us.  He is really the best, and I would do anything to make him happy.  I have never loved anyone more in my life--no offense.”</p><p>But Gildor, long able to see through a fake smile, took no offense for himself.  Instead, he took offense for someone else.  “More than you loved Erestor?”</p><p>Glorfindel pressed his lips together and looked up at Maedhros.  “Thank you for coming to the wedding,” he said.  “I know that Gildor has said that you are not fond of large gatherings.  It is good of you to come.”</p><p>Maedhros had to decide between a polite reply and support of Gildor.  He chose the latter.  “I love him, so if he wants to come to a wedding, I tag along.  However, if he ever told me I had to hold my bladder through a wedding, I might get it in my head to piss on his leg.”</p><p>Gildor gave a shrug of a shoulder and tilted his head off to the side.  “Knowing me, I might find that sexy,” he admitted.</p><p>“Gildor, I think we can both agree that Erestor was a problematic man.  He was self-centered and irresponsible, and I am going to be in a better situation now.”</p><p>“You say ‘was’ as if he has redeemed himself from that, though,” said Gildor.</p><p>Glorfindel squirmed slightly.  It was hard to tell if it was because of the conversation or his need to urinate.  “I would prefer not to speak ill of the dead.”</p><p>“The dead?”  Gildor frowned.  “You think he died?”</p><p>“He did not?”</p><p>Gildor cleared his throat.  “He almost died several times, but once he woke from his coma--”</p><p>“He woke?”</p><p>“You did not know this?”</p><p>Glorfindel shifted again with unease.  “Faelion told me he had died.”</p><p>Maedhros and Gildor exchanged looks.  “No.  Erestor lives.  He and Fingon have taken up residency in the house of my son, Elrond.  And I can confirm that if something did happen to him, we would know fairly fast, on account of his relationship with Fingon.  While I am not on the best terms with Fingon, Finrod manages to keep this family together.  He checks on all of us regularly, but he was more like a brother to Fingon and Turgon than a cousin.  If something happened to Erestor, he would let Gildor and I know right away.”</p><p>“I see.”  Glorfindel leaned to the side, and Gildor looked over his shoulder to see a small group of maidens in flowing golden gowns at the door.  “Thank you for the conversation, but I believe it is time for me to wed my true husband.  I look forward to seeing you both at the reception.  Save a dance for me, Gildor?”  Glorfindel stood with the assistance of one of the groom’s men who offered his arm.  “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to Gildor and Maedhros.  He gave a practiced curtsey which left Gildor speechless, though Maedhros managed to bow slightly as Glorfindel and the rest of the wedding party who had retrieved him left the room.</p><p>Maedhros and Gildor were left by themselves now.  “I lied about Erestor being dead once,” recalled Gildor.  “Ironically, it was to Fingon.”</p><p>“First Age?” guessed Maedhros.  “I sort of remember him bringing it up; he did not reveal it was you.”</p><p>“It was me,” Gildor confirmed.  He sighed.  “Did you see his reaction?”</p><p>“Fingon’s reaction?  Yes; he was upset, but also amused, and also excited at the idea you might be able to get him out of Gondolin.”</p><p>“Not that.”  Gildor nodded to the door. “Glorfindel.  He was so, so devoted to Erestor.  He was hopelessly in love with him.  Erestor was the whole reason I never deflowered the Golden Flower.”</p><p>“How long were you waiting to use that?” asked Maedhros.</p><p>“Just came up with it now, but, clever, right?”</p><p>“So...do you want to leave?”</p><p>Gildor looked at the leftover flowers and open jars of cosmetics.  “I kind of want to go find Erestor and apologize to him for how terrible I was.  After that cold encounter, how could I ever have been involved with Glorfindel?  And why is he acting so weird?  So...”</p><p>Maedhros sensed the unrest in Gildor’s voice and felt emotions spilling forth in his mind.  He pulled Gildor into his arms and hugged him for a moment.  “Can we postpone?  If we find Erestor, we find Fingon, and I am not ready for that.  Not after being in the realm of a wedding, and...I just need a little time.”</p><p>“That is more than fair.  Home?” asked Gildor.</p><p>Maedhros nodded in agreement.</p><p>---</p><p>In the present, Maedhros hummed again.  “We never went to talk to Erestor,” he realized.</p><p>“Oh… right.”  Gildor cringed.  “Alright.  Need to think.  Glorfindel hurt, maybe, definitely in trouble.  Erestor would want to know.  No idea where Erestor is; no idea where Glorfindel is.”</p><p>“Who contacted you?”</p><p>“My father.  He never mentioned Glorfindel, the whole time he was just talking about missing me and how much he loves me, but between the words, I heard it.  Glorfindel’s name, over and over again, and a lot of worry.  I know something is wrong.”</p><p>Maedhros rubbed his chin.  “Help me put the caravan back together and call the dogs back.  If Glorfindel is in trouble, he will end up one of two places--his home, with his husband, or, the same place everyone else goes.”</p><p>“And that is---?”</p><p>“My son’s house.  So we head for the House of Elrond, unless you learn something new.  As soon as you know more than vague thoughts, one of us can contact Erestor, if you think it is appropriate,” suggested Maedhros. </p><p>Gildor crawled to the edge of the caravan and smooched Maedhros.  “I love you so much.”</p><p>“Not as much as I love you, sweetcheeks.  Come on.  Faster you come out and help me, faster we can get going.”  Maedhros walked back out of view to the table.</p><p>Gildor set the flutes down and started to exit.  He sat down on the edge with his legs hanging over the side and did something he rarely engaged in.  He clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut.  “Please, please, please, let him be alright.  And please, let this have knocked some sense back into him.”  Gildor paused and opened his eyes.  “Well, shit, that could be complicated.  Please let it be some sense, but not enough sense that he pines all over for Erestor, because Fingon is Fingon and knowing that, he will keep Erestor far, far from Glorfindel.  So just enough sense to get Glorfindel safe again.  Unless Fingon and Erestor would want that.  Oh, now there is a thought.  Fingon might actually--”</p><p>“Gildor!  I need help with this table!”</p><p>“Coming!”  Gildor hopped off the end onto the ground.  “Please just...please let everyone be happy again.”</p><p>Gildor hopped out to help reconstruct their vehicle before he and Maedhros set off for Alqualondë.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A moan of pain escaped Glorfindel as he tried to move his limbs. Craning his neck a little, bleary eyes opened to see long blades of verdant grass obscuring his vision, not to mention the unmistakable scent of horse manure, disgustingly near.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” Asfaloth snickered, lowering his head to look Glorfindel in the eye. “When you have to go…well, you know how it is. I came here as soon as I could and sacrifices must be made.  So. It would seem you have managed to get into quite a predicament this time, eh? How is that working out for you?”  Asafaloth’s incredibly long, dark lashes caught on Glorfindel’s mussed hair, and the horse shook his head to detach them. </p><p>“Predicament? What...you are standing on me, with your hooves!? What in fuck are you doing? I thought we were friends.” Some nameless combination of anger and confusion swirled through Glorfindel’s foggy consciousness. The sound of his own voice in his ears registered as incredibly whiny.  The piercing pain in every limb meant he did not care.</p><p>“I thought so, too,” the horse whickered, “but that was before you chose him over me. I have standards, you know. You cast all of yours aside. So let us not be too quick to talk about the little disappointments of our relationship, shall we?”</p><p>“Please, get off of me?” Glorfindel begged. “You weigh too much. It hurts, so bad…and I did not leave you. You left me.”</p><p>“Good. Maybe a little torment will help bring you to your senses, and cause you to think more on what you have done. I left you, eh? That is one way of looking at it, I suppose. Though, I would call that an odd perspective.  How was I, a horse, supposed to make it from an island, surrounded by deep water, to the mainland to join you and your...lord of the manor...elf person.  And would you even have let me?  No, no, you cast all that away when you decided whatever he told you to think was what you had in your head even if it never was, and even if you knew it was wrong.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” whimpered the elf, realizing that the horse had no intention of budging.</p><p>“Oh, Valar, you are thick.” The wide nostrils flared. A few times the long tail flicked forward, which Glorfindel felt as a brushing sensation skimming the surface of his hair. “Who am I?”</p><p>“Asfaloth. You have always been Asfaloth.”</p><p>“Fair enough, but I am more than that. Want to guess? I shall give you a hint. There is a reason you have not seen me since you went off with that ellon you call husband.”</p><p>Sunshine beat down on Glorfindel’s calves; trickling sweat began to stick his tunic onto his skin. Even tiny attempts at movement only amplified his agony, so he held still as possible. His mind floated back to the day of his marriage to Faelion. In the minutes before the ceremony began, a conversation took place after he was brought to stand with his intended:</p><p>“Ah! My radiant bride,” gushed Faelion as soon as Glorfindel was standing before him.  They were at the back of the tent while others lined up for the procession through their guests.  Glorfindel had noted as he came from the house that the side where his guests sat was sparse compared to Faelion’s side, but then, Faelion had told him that many of the invitations sent to his friends and family had gone unanswered.  Faelion had taken care of most of the preparations; he had told Glorfindel it was his pleasure to see the day run smoothly for them.</p><p>Glorfindel blushed and smiled, and accepted the bouquet of golden roses, ivy, and red salvia, which gave Glorfindel a moment of pause.  “Where is the celandine?” he asked.</p><p>“No one will see such tiny flowers from where they sit,” Faelion told him.  “The red really makes it pop.  I thought we wanted this day to be memorable?”</p><p>Glorfindel nodded and said nothing about red being his least favorite color.  Instead, he changed the topic.  “I just had the strangest conversation. Gildor and Maedhros visited me, and told me that Erestor yet lives. That he did not die. You told me he died.” Questioning eyes regarded Faelion.</p><p>“I meant that Erestor was dead to us, fairest flower. Certainly no thoughts of him should be intruding on our day now, should they?”</p><p>“I...no, of course not,” Glorfindel said softly, lowering his head to hide that his chin quivered slightly. “I love you.”</p><p>Guilt washed over him at this memory. The memory of that which should have caused him to call off his participation in the ceremony, had he had any sense of personal honor.</p><p>“Are you part of Erestor?” he whispered.</p><p>“No. Decent answer, though,” Asfaloth acknowledged. “Try again.”</p><p>“I really am not able to right now. I cannot move. I cannot think. I am going to die anyway, it would seem.”</p><p>“I do not know, are you?” came the breezy response. “Really? You give up, just like that? You kill a balrog, you face off with Angmar’s King, and you have no curiosity, not even a little bit?”</p><p>Glorfindel opened his mouth to answer, but no sound emerged. The desire to respond was present, an intention, but nothing followed after. He sensed himself slipping away as if an irresistible force had traction on his very being, leaving him no choice but to regress.</p><p>“Oh, fine. Take away all my fun,” called Asfaloth’s acerbic whinny, though now from a distance. “I am what remained of your self-respect, Glorfindel. Perhaps, someday, you shall win me back to your side.”</p><p>A burning sensation lingered in his throat as he roused and blinked in the cold darkness. The recollection of the horrid dream remained. He would have cried, were he not too dehydrated for any tears. His lower front was chilled with moisture; his body must have voided the urine he could no longer hold. “Please,” Glorfindel spoke again to the dark; his sluggish and swollen tongue slurring the word. How much time had passed, he had no idea. He could not feel his extremities now, which almost was more frightening than the pain. Please, Lord! I am not afraid to die but do not leave me to suffer a prolonged end. I know I have made such a mess of everything. I promise, I will cooperate this time. Before, I did not listen to you and...look at what has become of my life. I am so sorry… “Sho shrrrr…” heard the cats with the keenest hearing.  More mutterings may have followed, but whether it was Námo listening and granting some peace or Glorfindel drifting away due to his injuries he would never know.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“How much further?”  Angrod had to shout over the sound of beating hooves as he and Finrod raced through the woods.  They were now along a narrow path, barely wide enough for them to remain side by side on their horses.  Branches of unkempt trees came dangerously close to hitting him in the face, and the terrain was uneven and caused concern for the horses.</p><p>“Almost there!”  Finrod held the reins tightly in one hand, while thrusting his other arm forward, pointing toward a clearing.  “Look!”</p><p>There, beyond the bowed branches of trees that canopied the path, was a majestic building.  It was constructed of cream-colored brick and adorned with marble of ivory, and indigo, and gold.  In the midst of the clearing, it appeared to be a castle.  From the outside, no one would know that half of it was in ruin.</p><p>Angrod rode right up to the door and slid off of his mount before coming to a complete stop.  Finrod was on his heels a moment later.  “Do you think there is a...key… nevermind,” said Finrod, who had stooped down to see if a key had been hidden near the door in case it was needed, but Angrod had charged the door sideways, his shoulder forcing the already unlocked door inward -- still impressive, for the door had been designed to open out.  “That works,” noted Finrod as he hurried in to follow Angrod.</p><p>Angrod stood in the middle of the hallway, looking at the doors lining either side.  “Which--”</p><p>“Left,” called out Finrod.  “He must be on the side--”  Finrod took a deep breath as he watched Angrod charge the next door he encountered.  This one was on hinges, and caused Angrod to stumble into the ruined theatre.  “--that Fingon destroyed.”</p><p>Finrod gave it a moment before he continued through the still swinging door.  Angrod was surveying the disaster, unsure of where he should start looking.  “Anglorel?” he called out, brow furrowed, eyes darting about.</p><p>“No, no,” Finrod said softly as he joined Angrod and set a hand upon his brother’s shoulder.  “Glorfindel!” he shouted in a clear voice as he squeezed Angrod’s shoulder.  Both of them listened intently. </p><p>“Glorfindel!?”  Angrod took another few tentative steps in.  “Finrod, what if he--”</p><p>“No.”  Finrod followed after his brother.  “Put that thought out of your head.”  He surveyed the wreckage, shaking his head.  “Someone needs to have a talk with Fingon about anger management.”</p><p>“How are we supposed to find him?”  Angrod began to take a step up over the pieces of the ceiling atop broken seats, but the debris shifted and he leaped away before he could end up elsewhere.  </p><p>“Careful!”  Finrod helped to steady Angrod, still scanning the vast area.  “I have an idea… I just need to figure out which animal would be best.”</p><p>“You are not turning me into anything,” Angrod warned immediately.</p><p>Finrod countenance changed before the words were entirely out of Angrod’s mouth.  He moved his hands to his hips and stared.  “Your son is dying somewhere under all this wreckage, and your concern is that you do not want me to use my gift to aid us in finding him, after you spent the better part of your life being the worst father ever?”</p><p>Angrod groaned and rubbed his face.  “Sorry.  Yes, this is important.  Just do it.  Help me find him, please.”</p><p>“I will, once I figure out what to-- cats,” Finrod suddenly said as he caught a feline out of the corner of his eye.  It was walking across the back of the stage, and sprang up onto a long-forgotten podium.  “Those cats Fingon kept were able to manage in here because they can balance so well.”  He scanned the area and noticed a dozen more, dozing and hunting mice.  “We have to be in the right place, but we might suffer Glorfindel’s fate if we try to maneuver as we are.”</p><p>Angrod nodded.  “Cats sounds good,” he agreed hesitantly.  “As long as it is only as long as we need to, and you turn me back again before I do something ridiculous like lick my own arse.  What do I need to do?”</p><p>“First, shut up.  You will retain your thoughts, so if you lick your arse, you would do it on your own accord.  Turning into the form of a cat does not mean becoming a cat.  Now, give me a moment.  I need to concentrate.”  Finrod found a space down the aisle they were in which was relatively clean and free of the bits and pieces littered everywhere.  “Come over here.  Quickly!”  Finrod crouched down, and motioned for Angrod to do the same.  “Just close your eyes and try not to move.”</p><p>“How are we supposed to communicate once you do this?  And how do I turn back into me?”</p><p>“Angrod, can we approach this with the same attitude you had with the doors?  Trust me?”  Finrod motioned once again to the open space in front of him, and Angrod, now appearing a little guilty, joined his brother.  Finrod reached out to clasp Angrod’s arm.  “We will find him.  Trust me.”</p><p>Angrod closed his eyes and nodded…</p><p>...and opened them to see a large golden cat sitting on his haunches before him.</p><p>“Finrod?”  he asked, except that whatever he said sounded more like “Mrrrarrr?”</p><p>There was no time to reflect on the temporary change, for Finrod had already taken off over the smashed chairs and fallen beams.  Angrod followed watching and mirroring his brother’s movements as they navigated through the mess with far more efficiency and much less effort than would have been the case if they had attempted to do so in their usual forms.</p><p>It took less than two minutes to discover where Glorfindel had the misfortune to be buried, found due to a tuft of his namesake being visible amid the destruction.  Angrod’s initial reaction was to paw at the chunks of wood and metal covering his son, but Finrod cautioned first with a growl, and then with words.  “Gently!  We have no way of knowing just how he is caught, and one wrong move could cause a collapse.”</p><p>Only now did Angrod realize his paws were hands once more, and he worked under Finrod’s strict direction to ease pieces off one by one, when he really wanted to burrow under and pull Glorfindel out.  “Glorfindel?”  He only now thought to address his son again, as there were other signs of him being there now -- a hint of a shoulder, and a knee -- yet still he was obscured and there were no sounds of life.  </p><p>“We need to work quickly and carefully,” reiterated Finrod.  “If he is dazed, it may be better.  It will mean he is not struggling right now, which could cause greater injuries or even cause something to loosen and fall.”  Finrod continued to direct the extraction effort until they managed to clear away most of the items that had been covering Glorfindel, as well as space for them to join him on the floor.  “Let me check a few things first,” warned Finrod as Angrod made an attempt to pull Glorfindel up.</p><p>“We need to get him out of here,” Angrod said.  “Some of these other beams are barely holding together.  There could be another collapse.”</p><p>“And if we move him the wrong way, we risk worse injury.  Just a minute.”  Finrod efficiently checked Glorfindel’s vitals the best he could.  “Pulse is up.  No surprise there.  He seems dehydrated, too.”</p><p>“He is a mess,” noted Angrod.  There was no need for Finrod to go through the numerous cuts and bruises, nor for him to hypothesize that there was a sprained or broken wrist from the swelling they could see.  In fact, wherever clothing was torn, there were marks of different colors, none of them natural.</p><p>Finrod gave a nod and he tore the fabric of the skirt Glorfindel was wearing so that he could use it as a bandage around a gash in Glorfindel’s head that had begun to ooze anew.  “We cannot worry about that right now.  It would be best to wake him.  If we start to move him and he wakes, he might be startled and flail around.”  Finrod looked expectantly at Angrod.</p><p>Angrod stared back.  “I… he knows you,” Angrod said sadly.  “If he sees me…”</p><p>Finrod nodded without continuing the conversation, and moved so that he could touch Glorfindel’s shoulder lightly and peer down at him.  “Fin?” he said in a sharp, clear voice.  “Fin, can you hear me?  This is Felagund, Fin.”</p><p>Struggling back from blessed oblivion, Glorfindel unthinkingly tried to answer. “Yes” came out far more like like “ethhh” but it was the best he could manage.</p><p>“Fin, it seems there was an accident and you were buried under a lot of debris.  I am going to try to carry you out with help.  Fin, I have your father here, and he is going to assist me.  He and your mother were very worried about you.  They heard you call out to them,” Finrod said, speaking slowly and watching Glorfindel’s face for indication of his emotions.</p><p>The golden head shook No. Streaks from dried tears traced down the filth and dust coating his face and hair. “Did not call. Angrod...kill me. Me dead...what he wanted. Better that way.”</p><p>Angrod sucked in air, and Finrod blew his breath out.  Finrod lifted his head to look at Angrod.  “If you have anything you want to say, now is the time.”  His voice was firm.</p><p>With shoulders slumped, Angrod bowed his head.  “I failed.  I failed as a father.  I failed as a man.”</p><p>Finrod let Angrod babble on for another few moments before he reached out and grasped hold of Angrod’s chin and forced him to look up.  “You have not failed, but you are failing right now.  Get a grip, Angrod.”</p><p>It took a few steadying breaths before Angrod was able to speak again.  “I am sorry, Angl-- Glorfindel.  This should be me, not you.  You should not be made to suffer like this.”  He swallowed hard and started to reach out, but stilled as Finrod gave him a bit of a warning look.  “I was wrong.  I was… young and stupid,” he blurted out.  “Not an excuse for it, though.  I was cruel.  Worse than a kinslayer.  I thought I was protecting you, and all I did was push you away.”</p><p>What little remained to Glorfindel’s endurance did not know whether to trust the words he thought he was hearing. There was so much pain. Was any of this real? His eyes wanted to close, to somehow shut away the agony in his body. And yet, enough remained to wonder one thing: “Why care now?” he rasped. </p><p>“I always cared.  I always cared.”  Angrod rubbed at his eyes with one hand.  “I did the wrong things; I said the wrong things.  I searched.  I tried to find you when you left.  Your Uncle Aegnor and I spent over a year until we… we just…”  He shook his head, and again reached out, this time hovering over Glorfindel’s hand.  “This should be me.  You never did anything wrong.”  Angrod’s lips pulled downward and he squeezed his eyes shut.  “I wish I could take this hurt from you and put it into my body.  You do not deserve this.  You deserved a better father.  I was stupid.  I was so stupid.”</p><p>Finrod was looking around, and had spied what looked like a large piece of the stage curtain nearby.  There was a bit of wind whistling in, and he did not want to chance the state of the theatre.  “Glorfindel, I do not know if I can move you myself.  I would like to have your father help me do that; we need to act quickly because this theatre is not stable.”</p><p>He wanted to say, ‘do not hurt yourselves on my account,’ but that had no chance of being spoken coherently. All he could do was nod and try to agree. He did not relish Angrod touching him, but he would not willingly risk his uncle’s safety. It was faint, but clearly “yeth” that they heard.</p><p>It was Finrod who did the majority of the situating; he was the one to lift Glorfindel onto the fabric and position his arms and legs. Nothing existed amidst the wreckage with which to splint the broken and visibly distorted limbs even had it been safe to consider such measures, so while Glorfindel wished to do his best for Finrod he was quite beyond that capacity. Grimaces, moans, exclamations and occasional cries of agony accompanied the necessities of their rescue. These were interspersed with whisper-sobs of what might have been ‘sorry’ but the sounds were impossible to puzzle out and all their focus had to be on evading further danger.  When it came to lifting and moving, Finrod took up the edges at Glorfindel’s head, and directed Angrod to be at Glorfindel’s feet.  They navigated slowly, for there was still debris to climb over and avoid, though once they were to the aisle area, the perils were less.</p><p>“We need to get into the foyer area and then we need water.  I do not trust the water here; I have no idea if we will find any.  Fingon obviously is no longer here, but it seems to be lacking any sort of caretaker.  This never should have happened,” he added with a nod of his head at the destruction around them.  “There is an inn not far from here; I will give you directions once we are safe.  You can ride there and get supplies.  Water, bandages… if you find a man named Eledu there, bring him.  He has some rudimentary healing skills.  Even better, if you find one of his sons.”</p><p>Once out of danger, Finrod eased his end down, as did Angrod.  Instructions were given, and Angrod raced out the door.  The sound of a horse galloping away was faintly heard, for the main door had been left broken open.  Finrod lifted Glorfindel from the torn piece of curtain, then wadded it up and used it to help prop up his head.  A flask was produced from his pocket, and he held it up to Glorfindel’s lips.  “Just a little.  This will help,” he offered.</p><p>Glorfindel’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he considered refusing what he guessed was some kind of medicine. In the end he could not gainsay his uncle’s steady gaze, and drank obediently--but only the tiniest sip. ”Thank you,” he whispered.</p><p>“I am not going to condone the things your father did,” said Finrod softly.  “I do want you to know that there were others… guilty of abandoning you.  I am included in that.  I was so busy building Nargothrond, I could not see what was right in front of me.  I never read between the lines of what my own son told me.  I am sorry, Glorfindel.  I do agree with Angrod on one point -- you do not deserve this.  Rest now; we can speak of what happened when he returns, if you are able.”</p><p>Glorfindel trembled at the words. “You are wrong,” he said with surprising vehemence. “I have been paid back for my deeds. I left my husband for dead and now I have nothing. I deserve all of this--and more.” After the outburst, his head fell back against the fabric; he was too weak to remain thus for long.</p><p>Immediately, Finrod tensed.  “Glorfindel, what do you mean?”  He looked over his shoulder, then back at Glorfindel.  “Is Faelion in there?  Under that debris?”</p><p>“Faelion? No.” His voice sounded dull and uncaring.</p><p>Finrod frowned.  It was hard to tell how much was accurate now, and if Glorfindel really knew what he was even saying.  “Where is Faelion?” questioned Finrod, suddenly finding it odd that Glorfindel was alone.  “What were you doing here?” he added before the first answer could be offered.</p><p>“I do...not know. With... his lover...probably,” Glorfindel said brokenly, turning his head aside in shame. Speaking was still a terrible strain. ”Was here... trying...needed courage...not go crawling back... Did not expect...to live...after accident. Now…do not know...what to do.”</p><p>Left speechless from this new knowledge, Finrod sank down to sit beside Glorfindel and to offer the small comfort of additional tiny sips of miruvor and adjustments to the makeshift pillow until he heard the approach of a horse.  Angrod burst back into the foyer carrying a bulging pack.  “There was just a woman there; she said her parents were out, but she gave me everything she thought might help and offered to have someone come with a carriage or a cart to transport Glorfindel.  She also mentioned that Fingon has nothing to do with this place anymore.  So now I suppose I owe some guy named Salgant a new front door.”  Angrod set the pack down on the ground and began to pull things out, including a waterskin that he passed to Finrod.</p><p>Finrod groaned slightly as he pulled the cork out of the waterskin.  “That was why you were here,” said Finrod as he attempted to have Glorfindel take a sip of the water.  “Angrod, iight some of those lamps, will you?”  There were a few starlit gems lining the floor of the hall, but the lamps were unlit.  Angrod hurried to light the nearest ones before he returned to go through the supplies they were given.</p><p>Glorfindel’s eyes widened in shock and surprise. The pace of his breathing increased, and an expression of further pain passed over his face. “Salgant?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “My tunic pocket...golden ring. Take it. Never wish to...see it again.”</p><p>Finrod and Angrod both looked up at each other, then back down to continue to tend to the injuries most pressing while waiting for transport.  In the midst of these activities, Finrod slid the ring out of Glorfindel’s pocket; it was covertly passed to Angrod as they worked.  “Glorfindel, I know this is probably not what you want to talk about right now, but I want to be certain I understand.  You would not want us to contact Faelion to tell him what has happened because he is with another man, and is breaking the vows he made to you.  Is that correct?”</p><p>Trying to do as little of the touching as possible once he saw the grief this caused his son, Angrod added another, “This is all my fault,” under his breath.</p><p>“Not man,” Glorfindel choked out. “Surely my...body...you know. When I could not..not get pregnant…I was cast aside.” A tear streamed from his eye. “I fathered a son once... not able to be...female. I tried but I cannot…” he trailed off, unable to say more.</p><p>“It was a very recent discovery for me,” admitted Finrod.  Angrod only looked down, yet continued to assist Finrod with bandages.  “I am going to tell you the same thing I told my son every time he came to tell me that someone pointed out something that made him different.  Ilúvatar made you special, and he made you the way he did because he meant you to be how you are.  Not how someone else wants you to be; not how someone else tells you to be.”  Every word made Angrod shrink back a little.  “We are going to get you to someone who can help you, and then, we can go and confront Faelion and this woman about--”</p><p>“No… no!”  It was as if something in Angrod had suddenly erupted.  He threw a roll of bandages on the floor and it unraveled away from them.  “This has to stop!”  He looked to Glorfindel now, and grasped his hand unbidden, and held fast.  “This IS my fault!  I thought I was teaching you how to deal with the realities of the world.  I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I was doing was making you suffer.  All I did was teach you that it was alright for people to abuse you, and mistreat you, and-- dammit, Finrod, let me finish!” he shouted when Finrod made an attempt to move Angrod away.  Angrod struggled to stay where he was, but he lost contact with Glorfindel.  Already on his knees, he just barely caught himself from falling forward.  “That bastard has no right to an explanation.  I know what I did wrong.  I am not going to ask you to forgive me; I will never deserve that.”  Angrod covered his face with one hand, unable to hold back the emotion.  “I felt so blessed when I held you that very first time, and then, I just went and ruined everything.  I wanted to reach out so many times, but I felt as if I lost that right when you left.  You deserved better than me.  I thought you had found it, but I was wrong.  I ruined your life, your mother’s life… everything.  I am sorry,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face.  “I am so, so sorry.”</p><p>Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes. Everything hurt, so much. This hurt too, but in a different way than the rest of it. “Father,” he began, not knowing how to say any of what swirled in his mind. “Cannot talk now. But…” This felt impossible, in his fogged head. The words eluded him because the thought itself was unsettled, swirling like mists. “Thank you...for telling me.”  He did not want to open his eyes anymore. In here it was dark, and held some comfort. On the other side was far too much reality. There was only one elf whose comfort he wished for. What he would not give, to be held in Erestor’s arms – but he had no right to ask it, expect it, or want it. He hoped the external world would somehow just go away. Maybe he would open his eyes and see the familiar nothingness of Námo’s vast halls.</p><p>Angrod managed something of a nod before he bowed his head and kept crying.  Finrod glanced about at everything, and took a moment to move Angrod so that he was propped up against the wall.  He patted his brother on the shoulder, then hastily returned to Glorfindel.  “Someone should be here any moment.  I promise, I am not going to send for Faelion.”  Finrod searched around for the miruvor again, which seemed to have been misplaced.  “Is there anyone you would like me to try to contact?”</p><p>“I have no one,” Glorfindel answered, hoping he kept his voice level when he spoke those words.</p><p>“Oh, honey,” said Finrod in a voice so very reminiscent of the way that Gildor spoke, “at the very least, you have me.  And your aunt.”  Finrod took a deep breath.  “I should not be plaguing you with so many questions.  What about Elrond?  He is not so very far from here, and one the best healers I know.”</p><p>Glorfindel could not answer. The last time he had seen Elrond...that was when Erestor...in his awareness were two clear thoughts: he knew he was hurt badly and he did not care what became of him. Being unable to answer led to no answer at all, which did not stop a tear from streaking down the outer corner of one eye.</p><p>Finrod turned to take a look at Angrod, and found who had filched his flask.  He whistled and pointed at the flask that Angrod had half-drained, and beckoned it be tossed over to him, then regretted it when Angrod threw it over without putting the cap back on.  Finrod grumbled as he shook the droplets off of his arm and offered the drink to Glorfindel again, who again took only the tiniest sip.  “Elrond is close, and he has never been one to judge harshly from my experiences.  Your injuries are beyond my skills.  Also, this theatre has to be cursed,” he decided.  “Fingon broke his legs here, you...well, you need expert care.  Do you know how long you were here before we arrived?” asked Finrod while he continued to strain to hear for any sound of an approaching carriage. </p><p>With extreme reluctance the colorful eyes opened again. It was less that he was unwilling to be impolite; he could manage that fine. But this was Finrod; it would not bloody work. When his uncle became determined about something, the fastest means to make him desist was cooperation. It had to be something about having been a King; they all seemed easiest handled thus. A frown played across Glorfindel’s brow. “Ahmm...came here…left house...” Why was it so hard to think? Because basic recollection was as hard as advanced mathematics right now. “Left house...morning. Before nine o’clock? Best can guess,” he muttered toward the end, his eyes unfocusing. “Came here...uhm...wandered...sorry.”</p><p>Just for the briefest few moments he felt curious what actually was the matter with him and tried to test out his own body. Move his limbs in an ordered manner to see what cooperated. Horrified at what he discovered, a whimper escaped him. Not one functional limb; he was as helpless as an infant.</p><p>Against the wall, Angrod had his head bowed and his hands rubbed his face.  “I should have tried to make amends sooner, but every time I thought about it, I felt unworthy.  I never thought you would forgive me, but I should have tried.  I know how stupid that must sound, and I--”</p><p>“Excuse me.”  Finrod helped Glorfindel drink more water, and then went over to where his brother was sitting.  In an instant, Finrod had taken hold of Angrod’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet.  “It is going to be a little while before anyone makes it here to help us,” he hissed.  “If you have not noticed, your son is lying on the floor.  We are in a theatre.  There has to be something better than this old piece of stage curtain that you can find for him to lie on until we can transport him.  Food would also be ideal.  There has to be something in this place.”</p><p>“In there?” questioned Angrod as he pointed to the side of the theatre where Glorfindel had been found.</p><p>“No.  That way.  And try not to break any more doors,” Finrod warned.  Angrod nodded and grabbed a lamp before he disappeared through one of the doors.  “Glorfindel, I apologize, but I need you to stay awake.  I have a feeling you have a concussion, and I want to get you to a healer before you doze off.  I also think you might be dehydrated, so more water?” he offered.</p><p>An uncertain glance regarded Finrod. No attempt was made to stifle a heavy sigh. Help was to be pressed upon him whether he wished it or not. “Yes.” At once a steady hand gently lifted his head just a little and expertly trickled water very slowly into his mouth giving more than enough time to swallow the small amounts. When Finrod estimated he had taken a reasonable volume he stopped.</p><p>“I think that is enough. We will wait a short while then give you more; I do not want you to consume a lot all at once.” He smoothed his hand over his nephew’s brow while he set his head down.</p><p>“Please Uncle...is Erestor well? Faelion told me he died, until Gildor told me he lived. I do not understand.”</p><p>Finrod plugged the waterskin as his brow furrowed.  “Erestor is fine.  He and Fingon have been living on Tol Eressea.  He had a rough time recovering from the poisoning, but he is well now.”</p><p>“Wh– what? Poison? No, he took too much of the drug he uses! I saw the powder on his face!”</p><p>“Shh...save your strength.”  Finrod helped Glorfindel to drink a little more.  “He was poisoned; we still have not discovered who did it or why.  He went to drink at a pub, and someone came in cloaked and sat with him and drank with him.  He turned away but a moment, and we suspect his glass was compromised then.  The next he knew, he was waking up in the House of Elrond, almost a year later.”</p><p>“But…” Wide-eyed, Glorfindel’s face took on abject guilt. This was so much worse than he had been aware. Unforgivably so. </p><p>“You need not worry.  He has more than recovered.”  Torn between the truth and not wishing to cause Glorfindel more emotional distress, Finrod said, “Fingon has been dutifully taking care of him.  They are inseparable.”</p><p>That seemed to cause some improvement. Erestor had not been abandoned. Just abandoned by his actual husband. The truly important thing was that he was loved and cared for, that someone in this world had supplied Erestor what he had failed to despite his promises. “Thank you,” he told Finrod, and he meant it.</p><p>Finrod checked over the various wounds and began to do what he could to clean and bandage what he could without causing additional discomfort to Glorfindel.  “For what it is worth, Erestor and I have spoken on a few occasions about all sorts of things, and when he speaks of you, there is no malice.  He has regrets and he directs the majority of the failings of your relationship on himself.  He has changed, and he is growing now in ways I do not think he knew he previously could.”</p><p>“Himself?” Incredulity suffused Glorfindel’s voice. “What in Arda for? I abandoned my husband and forsook the vows of marriage for...for…” a sob shook his frame. “Lies!”</p><p>WIth a frown, Finrod retrieved the waterskin again.  “He shared with me some of the decisions he made over the years.  He said he hurt you emotionally, and that really things were difficult ever since the two of you decided to raise Gwindor when he was reborn.  He has been shedding his stubbornness; he has admitted that he said or did things without regard for your feelings.  We spoke on his plans to be a better person, and I would say he has been improving.”</p><p>“May he be blessed,” Glorfindel murmured. While those things were nice to hear, what did it matter now? Nothing changed that his decisions were a terrible betrayal – one Erestor would never have committed.</p><p>A loud thump came at one of the doors on the other side of the hallway.  This was followed by cursing and another thump.  “Finrod!  I need help or so help me I am breaking another door!” came Angrod’s voice.</p><p>“Sounds like your father needs my assistance.  Beg your pardon,” said Finrod as he walked to the door.  He pulled it open and was almost hit by the piece of furniture his brother shoved through.  “This looks promising,” he said.  It was a blue velvet lounge with a high back, and ample width for Glorfindel to remain sprawled out.  </p><p>“I could not find suitable bedding, but I thought we could still use the curtain as a pillow,” said Angrod.  “I did see the room for refreshments, so I will go there next.”</p><p>The lounge was set against the wall to keep it out of the way, and Glorfindel was lifted onto it.  “Look in the room for some rags or towels,” advised Finrod.  “I would like to tidy Glorfindel up if I can.”</p><p>“I will do that,” said Angrod as he headed back into the dark side of the theatre.</p><p>There was enough room for Finrod to sit on the edge of the lounge as he tended to Glorfindel.  He offered more water and wiped the sweat from his nephew’s brow.  “I know you have been living in Tirion, but we have not seen much of you there.  Have you been working on your paintings?<br/>“No. In the beginning I did, but Faelion insisted I finish the paintings according to how he wished them to appear. He told me I did not have a ‘balanced eye.’ I preferred to stop rather than hear such remarks when I have painted longer than he has lived many times over. He then wanted that I take up embroidery and knitting; suitably feminine crafts. I have some ability now but I hesitate to call myself skilled.”</p><p>Finrod frowned.  “I enjoy knitting,” he admitted.  “I am quite skilled at it.  I have never seen any particular craft to be more ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’. I just think people should do what they enjoy.  I am sorry about your paintings.  I hope you are able to take it up again in the future.  Amarie and I still have the landscape you painted of Imladris hanging in our foyer.”</p><p>A wan smile appeared. “Maybe. I left with the clothes I am wearing and am not likely to have anything else.”</p><p>Finrod took another look at the clothes that Glorfindel was wearing.  His shirt was more of a blouse with flowing sleeves and his skirt had been calf-length before being torn up higher for bandages.  “Would you like me to have your father look in the prop room for some clothing for you?” asked Finrod.  “I would think there would be many costumes there which would be plain clothing, considering the variety of plays.”</p><p>“I would like that.  I would especially like trousers, though I do not know when I can use them. Please anything but pastels. Thank you, Uncle.” He had not meant to be so conversant but the idea of pants...that was a lure indeed.</p><p>When Angrod came back with two bottles of wine and a tray of dried and fresh fruits and jerked meats, as well as a pile of clean linens, he was once more given a task.  “Go up into the costume room and see what you can find that might fit Glorfindel.  This clothing is tattered and he needs something dry.  A robe or two if you can find them, pants that fit loosely, a basic shirt--nothing difficult to put on or take off.”</p><p>“Of course,” Angrod said as he set the items down in the growing collection they had in the hall.  “You said pants, correct?”</p><p>“Pants, trousers, leggings--whatever you want to call them.”  Finrod watched Angrod disappear, and then lightly touched Glorfindel’s arm in one of the few places not battered or bruised.  “Excuse me, dear, I will be right back.”</p><p>Finrod pushed his way into the dark side of the theatre. He immediately saw the lantern light and gave a sharp whistle.  Angrod turned around and Finrod made his way down the row of chairs to reach him so that he did not need to shout.  “I saw that look.  I will have none of it.”</p><p>“What look?” asked Angrod as he stared at the lantern.</p><p>“I said ‘pants’, and your eyes lit up and you almost smiled, and I am not going to tolerate that from you,” warned Finrod.  </p><p>“I meant nothing by it,” defended Angrod.</p><p>Finrod stared his brother down.</p><p>There was a huff, and then Angrod whispered, “So part of me is pleased, yes.  He wants to wear pants and deep down there was a moment of…”</p><p>“Do not say it,” cautioned Finrod.</p><p>“...maybe I was right.”</p><p>Angrod readied himself for retaliation from Finrod, expecting a slap to the face or a fist to the jaw.  What he did not expect was to have his brother standing before him, pinching the bridge of his nose, shoulders shaking.  “Felagund?”</p><p>“Just go,” demanded Finrod.  He waved his other hand without opening his eyes.  “You and I are going to talk later, but I have to be there for your son right now because you sure as hell are not.  And all I can think about right now is, what would have happened if you had been Gildor’s father, too?  How would you have ruined him, hmm?  I cannot look at you right now.  Go.”</p><p>Angrod’s lips parted, but he stood dumbly in the aisle a moment before he trudged off to find the costume room.  </p><p>Finrod took a deep breath to compose himself, and then opened his eyes--only to find the theatre completely dark.  With the loss of the lantern, he navigated more slowly back to the doors and felt around along the wall until his hand pressed an indented panel and the door swung open. He made his way back to Glorfindel and carefully perched next to him, gently touching his cheeks to feel the temperature of his skin.</p><p>“You are arguing. With him. Are you not?” Glorfindel posed this as more of a statement than a question, and did not open his eyes.</p><p>Finrod sucked in his breath.  “I am sorry you had to hear any of that,” he apologized.  He frowned and looked at the tray, which he picked up from the floor.  “Glorfindel, I want you to be able to repair your relationship with your father, but I am also a realist.  You are not in good physical condition right now, and if something…”  Finrod tapped the tray with his fingertips.  “If we had found you in a coma and you had not awoken, it would either be your father or your husband who would be asked to make decisions on your behalf.  I would suspect you would not desire either.  If you would allow, I would offer to be your advocate, at present, until such time as I am unneeded.”<br/>“Uncle…” Glorfindel’s face twisted with grief; the reply came haltingly in a very soft voice. “If that is the case, then that right truly belongs to Erestor. If he did not die, then...my sins do not change what is. But I equally expect he would not wish anything to do with me and you are right in that I have no relationship with my father. You have always spoken to me with honesty so I shall also. I have no future. I wish you had not found me. Do what you feel you must but...I have nothing else to add.”</p><p>“May I have your hand?”  Finrod set the tray in his lap.  “Whether you believe or not, I have been gifted in many ways I cannot explain, foresight among these skills.  May I?”  He had both hands open and extended.</p><p>Glorfindel did love Finrod, and reflexively moved to do as he wished but stabbing pains coursed through his arms, eliciting a gasp of pain. “You must take my hands,” he answered in a voice that shook. This was...pathetic.</p><p>Finrod cringed.  “I am so, so sorry!  I...oh, Eru, is everything… is everything broken?”  He took a moment to center himself; while he was not a healer, he knew more than enough to know that panic from the healer was frowned upon.  Until now, he had not wished to move limbs, but he did his best now to figure out what might feel better for Glorfindel.  “I am so sorry,” he apologized again as he gingerly positioned Glorfindel’s left arm in a way that seemed better.  “Where the hell is that carriage?” he demanded of the front door.  Since it was broken on one side, he could see out, and there was no sign of reinforcements.</p><p>“Not your fault, Uncle. I forgot. Please do not be sorry after what you have done.” This seemed so strange. He felt past caring at all about himself but genuinely did not want Finrod to feel distress on his account. That he could not reach out to him at all caused more pain than the injuries, at least at this exact moment now that the complete wretchedness had abated.</p><p>The water was offered again, followed by the tiniest bit of miruvor.  Then Finrod placed a hand gently on Glorfindel’s limp fingers and closed his eyes.  For a little while, he sat in silence.  Then he opened one eye and said, “I see something, but I will be biased in my advice.”</p><p>Almost Glorfindel did not hear him, because he found his focus riveted on the touch of his Uncle’s hand. It caused a realization of how long it had been since anyone had interacted with him physically for kindness and affection. He did not want the hand to go away, though he knew it would. Instead of managing to say something stupid he simply watched Finrod, waiting on him to say more.</p><p>“There is some connection between you and my son,” said Finrod.  There was a tint of rose to his cheeks.  “I know that the two of you were very close for a long time.  Like the ebb and flow of the ocean, the wax and wane of the moon, he is coming within your orbit again.”  Finrod kept hold of Glorfindel’s hand, but opened his eyes and shook his head.  “Obviously, as he is my son, thoughts of him are strong.  There is more in your future, but it is hazy and I am uncertain of who is involved, but you have a future, Glorfindel.  There is more for you, but…”  Finrod closed his eyes and shook his head.  “I do not perceive Faelion in that future for you.”</p><p>This...seemed far-fetched, though it would be offensive to speak that aloud. The future part, not the Faelion part. If one had no future, obviously the snake could not be a part of it. Gildor? That...was something he surely did not need a repeat of unless his life was doomed to be a series of bad mistakes lived over and over. No, none of this could even be thought of right now. Why could Námo not have worked faster… </p><p>Angrod joined them again, this time with a stack of clothing.  He dropped it without ceremony at Finrod’s feet, and then said, “I will be right back.  I need to make sure the fire is out.”</p><p>“What fire?” demanded Finrod.</p><p>“The fire in the costume room,” Angrod replied as if this was common knowledge.  “Nothing is organized and it looks like it is maintained by hoarders.  I was attacked by a raccoon, and then the lamp caught the edge of a cloak.  I think I put it all out, but there was a lot of smoke.”</p><p>“Just go,” directed Finrod, pointing his finger at the door.  Angrod nodded and disappeared again.  “Glorfindel, my apologies.  This is the worst rescue.  I have honestly not had a good record of rescuing or...questing in general,” he admitted.  “I have no idea how Fingon always made it look so easy.”</p><p>To his delight, Glorfindel discovered that he could shake his head No (carefully) without apparent repercussions. “Clearly you never heard about our mission to rescue Aredhel. You actually found me and are helping. Would say this is pretty good, Uncle.”</p><p>“I knew a little about Aredhel’s Gondolin adventures, but she was always running away.  Did you know that she and Celegorm once ran away while in Valinor and spent a season on a Telerin ship?”</p><p>A frown furrowed Glorfindel’s brow. “Maybe we were in over our heads after all…”</p><p>Finrod lifted his hand so that he could tick off his fingers.  “Argon was always missing, Aredhel was always running away, Turgon was always hiding, and Findekáno was...a hopeless romantic.  And I do not mean that just in the relationship sense.  He had these dreams of how the world should be, and how just believing you could do something would mean it could happen.  And as much as I want to dispute that with him...he is the only man I know who walked into Angband and stole back one of Morgoth’s treasures, so to speak.  I suppose, Luthien, but, that was a group effort and I have a lot of feelings about that entire adventure that I like to keep buried.”  Finrod began to sort through the items brought by Angrod.  “I cannot believe he set part of the other side of the theatre on fire,” he mumbled as he looked at the door that Angrod kept using.  “Seriously, our family should be kept away from open heat sources.”<br/>A sporfle erupted from Glorfindel, rapidly followed by a grimace and a wheeze. Then a snicker amidst a wide-eyed expression of horror. Something like “noooooooo” alternated with giggles and desperate panting breaths. He had been okay but something in his body deeply disagreed with the motions of laughter, but that had been more than a little true. What had killed him? Well, it had not been a troll.</p><p>“I apologize for the pain your laughter must be causing, but not for the laughter itself,” said Finrod.  He lifted an outfit he deemed acceptable; it was a pair of dark flowing pants and an ivory colored shirt that was loose at the front.  “I would like to get you out of the soiled clothing you are in and into something dry.  Will you permit me?”</p><p>“Please. Cut them off of me. What I am wearing. Moving hurts and that will help.” A short pause, and Glorfindel averted his eyes. “You are very kind.” He could not help that his voice shook speaking the last sentence.</p><p>“I care about people,” answered Finrod.  He had a knife on him, which he used to do as directed.  There was some water to spare, and with the cloths Finrod gently wiped away the dust and dirt and smears of blood and urine before he even more carefully dressed Glorfindel in the found clothing.  “I would say it comes from being a father, but I was always like this.  So it might come from my mother, or my parents together, and them being so young when I was born.  Did you know, my father is not all that much older than I am.  He and I have always been best friends because of it--well, always, since I was old enough to have the concept of a best friend.  Everyone talks about how young Uncle Fëanor was when he got married, but he and Aunt Nerdanel did not start their family right away.  My parents married while just as questionably in their youths, but my mother was pregnant before her majority.  The dynamic, I think, was different.  Two young people, not yet adults, raising a child.  It was hard for them, I know, but it was lovely, really.  They had no idea what they were in for, and it made them try all that much harder, I think.”</p><p>“I am glad for you,” Glorfindel said sincerely, though he really could not imagine anything like it. Surely, that must be a wonderful thing, family...maybe that was part of where it had all gone wrong. He had tried to fill that void with lovers and time and again it had never worked. Then again, neither had his actual family...it was too complicated to even try to think on right now with his mind still swimming all over the place.</p><p>“I stretch myself too thin,” said Finrod.  “I spend so much time at the school, I forget about the entire family.  Sure, I speak to my brothers, my sister, my cousins, and obviously my son and wife--but it should go beyond that.  I need to take time for the rest of my family.”  He removed the torn curtain and replaced it with the remaining items of clothing.  Once more, he offered water, and then began to sing a song of calm, continuing even after Angrod returned and gave a report on the extinguished fire.  Angrod paced as Finrod sat and sang and held Glorfindel’s hand.  At one point, Finrod did say to Angrod, “Let Artanis know we will be arriving as soon as we can; I assume she is still living at Elrond’s home.”  This was the only exchange before Finrod returned to his songs.</p><p>The only other disturbance that occurred over the next two hours was the entry of a confused bat.  The creature flew around for a bit, but the meowing of a cat at one of the doors caused the animal to fly out again.  Another twenty minutes passed, and the creatures of the night were growing silent.  A few morning birds were just beginning to alert the world of their presence in the darkness when the rattle of a carriage of some sort was heard down the road.  </p><p>Angrod sprang up and dashed outside.  Finrod looked around at the supplies and other items strewn about.  There was half a moment of consideration to clean up, but he decided against it.  “I think your chariot is approaching,” he whispered to Glorfindel.</p><p>“This is going to hurt.” It was the closest what remained of his pride could come to telling of his fears concerning what he knew would happen. If being removed from the ruined side of the theater had been what it was, he did not want to imagine the hell of being taken in a vehicle though what else were they to do? His fingers closed around Finrod’s a little tighter.</p><p>And then, to the surprise of everyone, sprang someone entirely unexpected through the doorway.  “Ugh, this place still smells like cat piss!” announced Gildor as he bounded in.  He ran to his father, who continued to hold Glorfindel’s hand but also stood to embrace his son with one arm.  “Valinor’s worst vacation spot is Fingon’s Castle.  Reviews give it one out of five stars, and only because you cannot rank it lower than that.  Varda herself was once reported to say, ‘Can we please get a Balrog to burn it down’. Read my entire report in Gildor’s Guide to the Best and Worst of Valinor.”  He dropped down where his father had been sitting and gave Glorfindel a sympathetic look.  “You look rough, but also, hello, I missed you.  Also, whomever did your hair? Fire them.  I want to hug you, but I have a feeling that is not welcomed right now.”</p><p>Lips parting at what Finrod had said not long ago about Gildor, Glorfindel gawped but then got his mouth to say, “Gildor” in hopeful tones. Now that he stood there, he was glad to see him after all. Maybe gladder than he realized, when his eyes blurred again with tears.</p><p>“Oh, good, you remember me! I was a little worried you might have forgotten your most flamboyant friend,” Gildor said with a wink.  “Maedhros and I got here as soon as we could.  We were actually on our way to Elrond’s house, but we were intercepted by a frantic woman trying to find someone willing to bring a carriage out here, and we started to put things together as she spoke.  And here we are.  Or, here I am.  Maedhros is outside with the, uh, transport.  Not the fanciest thing, but it will get you there, and our horses are amazing.  Maedhros is going to get them some water and then we will get you to much better accommodations, because really, worst bed and breakfast ever,” he said as he waved his arm around.</p><p>Glorfindel’s anxiety soared and he began to tremble, still holding on to Finrod. He could feel his skin growing clammy but what could he do or say? Furiously blinking drove back the tears that had tried to form. Maybe they could hit him, knock him out…</p><p>“He has to be moved very carefully,” warned Finrod.  “Someone will need to tend him during the ride there.”</p><p>“I can hold him,” Gildor said almost immediately.  “Maedhros will be fine driving the horses.”</p><p>“You stay here with him; I am going to see if I can find any blankets to make it more comfortable,” said Finrod.  He gave Glorfindel’s hand a gentle pat and fetched a lantern before he went in to explore.  </p><p>Gildor moved a little closer and took hold of Glorfindel’s hand now.  “Whose ass do I have to kick?” he asked in a low voice.  “I figure I owe you at least one street fight.  As long as it is not Turgon--I reserve the right to only punch people whose faces I can actually reach.”</p><p>The golden head turned a little, and his fingers tried to grasp Gildor’s hand though that was very weak. “Mine. But I think the building beat you to it.”</p><p>“No, sweetie, you are too precious for me to punch in the face,” said Gildor as Maedhros entered the theatre.  “My father went to find blankets for transport,” called out Gildor, and then he added, “Surprised you came in here.”</p><p>Maedhros gave the broken front door a cursory look.  Then he lifted a hand in greeting to Glorfindel, and wandered to a door that led to the destruction.  He peeked in and a cat ran out.  “Crafters guild gives us hell for having mixed materials when we travel and will not let you keep a ferret with you when on the road, and this.  This is fine.  Government is dumb,” opined Maedhros as he shut the door.  “Where did your father go?”</p><p>“Right here,” said Finrod as he emerged into the hallway with a bundle of tablecloths in his arms.  “These should do.  Good to see you,” he said with a nod to Maedhros.</p><p>Maedhros returned the nod, but then said, “Somebody needs to talk to him about this.”  He twirled a finger around to refer to the theatre.”</p><p>“Not my problem, and apparently not his problem.  Someone else owns it,” said Finrod.</p><p>“So we are trespassing?” asked Maedhros as he took the top two tablecloths from Finrod.</p><p>Finrod shrugged.  “I think there are a lot of questionable activities across the board, not the least of which was Angrod pulling a your dad with a lantern and some linens.  I will write to Salgant and explain things,” he offered.</p><p>“That fat fuck?  He does not deserve a letter,” said Maedhros.</p><p>“Oh, let it go,” called out Gildor. </p><p>“No. What he said to you--”</p><p>“Later, my dearest.  We need to get Glorfindel out of here.”  Gildor batted his lashes, and the conversation abruptly ended.  “You go fix up the caravan, and I will carry him out when we are ready.”</p><p>Gildor was left alone again with Glorfindel, and he gave him a small smile.  “We are going to get you to Elrond, and we all know how good he is at fixing things.”  Gildor went so far as to lean down and kiss Glorfindel’s forehead.  “Just hang in there.  I promise Maedhros and I will stay at the house as long as you need us.”</p><p>“Gildor, hit me! Please! Knock me out” Panic washed over Glorfindel’s face. “Everything is broken,” he begged in a whisper. “I do not know how I will endure this otherwise. Please!”</p><p>“Shhhh…”  Gildor glanced around, and satisfied they were alone, reached into a pocket.  “Open your mouth,” he directed as he removed a pinch of powder from a small envelope.  Glorfindel complied without question.  Gildor sprinkled it over Glorfindel’s tongue.  “I will stall if I have to until you tell me you are getting drowsy,” he said.  “Take some water, and I will give you another dose to hurry the effects along.”  He picked up the waterskin after he hid the envelope back into his pocket.</p><p>“Bitter…” Part of him wanted to know what he had been given but the rest of him did not care. He believed he could trust Gildor. If he wanted to be dead really, how far amiss could it possibly go? It was the pain that was so unwanted. The water helped wash away the taste. His eyes tracked Gildor’s every motion. Something was different about him; maybe it was Maedhros? Hard to say. Either way he felt grateful for this over a stranger.</p><p>“Yeah, normally, you would not eat this, but it will get into your system quick this way.  One more,” said Gildor, and he hurried in case anyone came back in.  “You might not completely fall asleep, but this is going to relax your muscles and give your brain a nice floaty place to be for a while.”</p><p>“Thank you, so much.” Sighing with relief he relaxed more just from the assurance that he would have some relief. “Do not know how to repay you.”</p><p>“Nothing to repay.  In fact, I feel like this is counting towards some of my debts to you.  Now, I am going to take a look here, because, while I love my father, he is a great librarian and a wonderful philosopher and a phenomenal musician and maker of the neatest knitted blankies, but what he is not?  He is not so good at healing arts.  Lucky for you, I know a guy, and that guy is me.”  Gildor quickly examined Glorfindel’s injuries, and then began to work efficiently to set bones and splint limbs.  He sang as he worked to cover the sounds of pain from Glorfindel so that they did not alert those outside.  When Gildor was satisfied with the work he could do, he positioned Glorfindel so that he could cradle his head and wait for work that they were ready to depart.  He stroked Glorfindel’s hair back from his face and told him tiny secrets such as, “Maedhros does not know it, but I actually gave away the ferret to a boy who was at the market one day.  I love my critters, but that one kept shitting on my log books, so I just blamed it all on the magistrate telling me I could not have the ferret there because I like blaming things on the magistrate because he is a dickhole.”</p><p>Snorts and giggles escaped the patient, who had indeed more than begun to fall victim to whatever he had been administered, which was better than the barely recalled moments of having his limbs treated. “I have not laughed in so long,” Glorfindel slurred a little, feeling happy and mildly euphoric. Gildor’s scent was familiar and if nothing else, associated with safety.</p><p>“We have a lot to catch up on,” said Gildor with a smile as Maedhros came to alert him that they were ready to leave.  Gildor carefully lifted Glorfindel into his arms and carried him to the caravan as promised.  After settling in, Gildor kept his word and held Glorfindel as the dawn of Valinor could be seen through the small back window.  “Since the subject came up, let me tell you why Maedhros and Salgant and most likely unfriends forever.”  Gildor continued the tales in the hours it took to reach the house of Elrond. </p><p>As expected, the entire household was awake when they arrived, and ready to help get the patient into one of the healing rooms.  It was coincidentally the same room where Erestor spent almost a year in coma and uncertainty.  Glorfindel could not make his concern about this known, for after a brief exchange between Elrond and Gildor, the master of the house approached with a sad sort of smile.  “It is good to see you, Glorfindel, though I wish the circumstances were better.”  Behind Elrond, Gildor was helping Elladan with a preparation of something in a small bowl.  “You need much rest.  Gildor has explained the details of greatest importance.  I am going to administer something that will help you to relax and allow me to examine you fully.”</p><p>Glorfindel’s panic kept him speechless, and only moments later as sentences were beginning to form in his head, he felt someone pulling back his bottom lip.  “This is going to help you sleep,” said Gildor as he smeared some sort of dark paste over his gums.  Glorfindel attempted to protest, but the powder given to him by Gildor in combination with this new substance caused him to grasp at consciousness briefly before drifting into a dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is his Majesty suitably relaxed?” purred the voice in Fingon’s ear.</p><p>“His Majesty appreciates the dedication of his most loyal subject.”  </p><p>Fingon was lying on his stomach, and Erestor was straddling his back.  Upon return to their guest room, they enjoyed a nap, spooned together with Fingon protectively cuddling Erestor in his arms.  When they woke, a wince from Fingon as his hand flew to his shoulder caused Erestor to coax him into massage mode.  There were many times after gymnastics practice that Fingon would have a later cramp in a muscle or a joint that was disagreeable, and Erestor had mastered the art of tending to all of Fingon’s aches (and had in turn been rewarded with ample back and shoulder massages from his lover). </p><p>Today, there was more than that.  Fingon did not possess the libido Erestor did, but there were occasions when they would slip down the rabbit hole, though as of yet a full joining had not taken place.  However, Fingon still had difficulty asking for these things, and some words evaded his vocabulary.  They had worked out a system, a series of coded phrases, much like safe words, though in their case they were used to signal the interest in particular activities.</p><p>“Would his Majesty like an encore?”  Erestor held his breath; even with Fingon face-down, Erestor thought he had felt the stirrings from his partner.</p><p>There was a pause, but Fingon replied, “I would very much enjoy that.  You should, uhm… stay backstage.”</p><p>Erestor purred and immediately fetched oil from his travel pack.  He climbed back onto the bed to straddle Fingon again.  Backstage meant Erestor was given permission to hump Fingon’s back and for him to pretend he was taking his lover.  It was a thrilling roleplay for Erestor, and Fingon’s reaction, in these rare times, was always favorable.  Centerstage meant that they would face each other, and Erestor would take them both in hand.  Orchestra was the term for Erestor rubbing himself against Fingon’s leg without Fingon wishing reciprocation, and if Fingon said anything about the Director, then a request was being made for Erestor to bind Fingon to the bed and for just about anything, save penetration.  </p><p>The oil was drizzled over Fingon’s skin.  “His Majesty is generous,” whispered Erestor.  “It is gracious of him to provide such an indulgence.”</p><p>“The pleasure is mine.”  Fingon pulled his pillow closer to his chest, and rose up on his elbows.  He groaned as Erestor’s thick cock settled against his lower back.  He clutched the pillow and closed his eyes.  “You provide a great service to your King.”</p><p>“My King deserves only the best.”  Erestor leaned down to whisper, and while there, grazed his teeth along the edge of Fingon’s right ear.  Fingon whimpered and turned his head to give Erestor greater access.  Erestor nipped at Fingon’s earlobe and smiled as he felt Fingon’s body rock against the mattress.  “Does his Majesty wish for his scepter to be polished?”</p><p>“Yes, please,” groaned Fingon.  And then, unexpectedly, he begged with the words, “Please, Eres, touch me.  I am so hard for you right now.”</p><p>The plea went right to Erestor’s groin, and he snaked his hand around a well-muscled torso to seek his prize.  Erestor pulled back a moment later to rub his hand in the oil on Fingon’s back before reaching between Fingon and the mattress once again.  Indeed, Fingon was solid and in Erestor’s hand, the muscle felt as if it was throbbing.  “Do you want me, your Majesty?”</p><p>“I need you, Eres,” came the reply.  And then, another unexpected request.  “Call me… call me káno, and… and tell me what you will do on our wedding night.”</p><p>Erestor had to take a deep breath to keep from spilling right then.  He licked his lips and used firmer strokes as he spoke, grinding his body against Fingon.  “Is that what you wish of me, káno?  You wish for me to make love to you on our wedding night?”</p><p>“Yes!  Tell me of it...tell me what you will do to me, Eres.  How my heart sings for you now,” Fingon panted.</p><p>Erestor rolled his hips and dared to slide down further so that he was seated in the cleft of Fingon’s rear, just shy of true intercourse, his shaft teasingly brushing the puckered entrance in anticipation of the future.  “I would massage you as I did before, relaxing all of your muscles, save one.  I would kiss you with bountiful hunger and my hands will be on your hips as you arrange yourself as you are now, only I would have you on your knees, angled so that I can easily enter you.”</p><p>“Like this?” Even with Erestor on his back, Fingon was able to lift his hindquarters as his body arched and he rose up on his knees, his legs spread wider.</p><p>“Careful, there,” warned Erestor, who had not expected the movement and almost plunged into Fingon.  He shivered and regained his bearings by gripping Fingon’s hips to steady himself.  “Just like this,” he agreed.  “Beautiful.  Exactly like this.  So perfect… perfect for me to join my body to yours, to fill you with the great desire I have for you.”</p><p>“Would you fill me deeply, or ride me hard?” </p><p>“Both,” Erestor vowed, throat dry.  The closeness, their unabashed movements, and the scent surrounding Erestor was bringing him closer to the edge.  He continued to thrust and groaned as he imagined how it would be to actually sheath himself within Fingon.  To have earned such trust, and to be the recipient of such great love.  Tears pricked his eyes.</p><p>“Please, Eres,” begged Fingon again.  “Touch me as you had before.”</p><p>It was easier now for Erestor to reach around and take Fingon in his hand.  “As you wish, your Majesty.”</p><p>“Call me--”</p><p>Erestor strained to listen, fearing he missed something.  “Káno?” he guessed, his hand still in motion, his hips still in control.</p><p>“No...call me…”  Fingon tightened his grip on the pillow.  “Call me your husband,” he requested in a soft, shy voice.</p><p>If Erestor had not already been on the edge, those words would have put him over.  “My husband,” he spoke against Fingon’s skin, and then bit and sucked on the back of his neck.  Rings would come later, as would vows; for now, Erestor marked Fingon as his with his teeth and lips, bruising his neck with purpose.  He would not claim his body now, not so intimately, but the purple-red welts he knew would be visible for some days were enough for now.  For any who saw them, the message would be clear: This one is mine.</p><p>A sudden warmth ran over Erestor’s fingers and down his arm; he pumped his hand as Fingon cried out his name and muffled his grunts and gasps into the pillow.  Erestor closed his eyes and moaned as he released over Fingon’s back.  In this position, he was sure some of his fluid was running down Fingon’s legs.  Normally Erestor would hurry to clean them up.  He waited for Fingon’s insistence.</p><p>“I wish we were getting married tomorrow,” was all that Fingon said.</p><p>Erestor’s heart surged with joy.  “I wish it were tonight,” he admitted.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Erestor tried to make sense of the words as Fingon gently eased himself up and Erestor moved aside.  “Sorry, what?”</p><p>Fingon was sitting on the bed now, saying nothing of the mess they made on the sheets, and twisting his fingers.  “We could still have a celebration in a year; we could still have all of the parties and announcements, but really, the part that matters is...us.  You and I.  What if we, uhm… here, tonight, Ereinion and the family are going to Elerondo’s party with Sinaryn’s family, we would be here alone.  You could, um...do all of those things you just told me.”  It was the same adorably uncertain voice Fingon had used earlier. </p><p>There was the initial shock, and then Erestor practically flung himself at Fingon, climbing into his lap, their already stimulated bodies pressed close as they kissed until Erestor finally eased Fingon’s lingering worry with, “Absolutely.  Yes.  I want this, too.”  His arms were around Fingon’s neck.  </p><p>There was a knock on the door, and they scrambled to detach even though the door was locked.  It was one of the maids, informing them that the tub in the adjoining room was filled, and that brunch would be served shortly in the family dining room. After they heard her walk away, the pair giggled as Erestor crawled back into Fingon’s lap.  “You are messier than I am,” he concluded.  “I can clean myself up with a cloth and let you have the tub first.”</p><p>“I am not going to argue with that,” said Fingon, but he enjoyed a few additional lingering kisses before allowing Erestor to escape his arms.  “Should we warn her we will need water again later?” asked Fingon.</p><p>“If you think we will,” Erestor said slyly.  “My thought was that my seed will be within you,” he said, and Fingon groaned at this thought, “and I may just decide to lick you clean, kitten.”</p><p>Fingon whimpered.  “You are making me hard again, Eres,” he accused.</p><p>“Should we ask the maid for a cold bath for you instead?” teased Erestor.</p><p>“No.  Certainly not,” Fingon said, sobering at the thought of cold water on his skin.  He stretched and went to the door to the bathing chamber and opened it to see the promised tub of water, with the customary sheets draped within to keep the metal from burning skin.  A small table with an assortment of soaps and shampoos was nearby.  “I wish the tub was big enough for both of us,” said Fingon as he unpinned his hair from the pile of braids that was atop his head.  They cascaded down, but he did not unravel them as he dipped a toe into the water.</p><p>“Sweet mercy… warm, hot, blessed water!”  Fingon sunk down so that the steaming liquid was up to his chin.  He arched his back and sighed.  “Can I nap in here?”</p><p>“That seems dangerous.”  Erestor came around the tub and set towels for Fingon on the stool nearby, having bathed the evening prior.  “Should I stay in here to make sure you stay awake?”</p><p>Fingon lolled his head back and forth, eyes closed.  “I think I can stay awake, darling.”</p><p>“I will check on you in a bit, then, and if you have dozed off, then to bed.”</p><p>“I have no need for a nap, cupcake,” drawled Fingon.</p><p>“Of course not.”  Erestor kissed Fingon on the brow and left the room, but kept the door open.  They still intended to stay at Ereinion’s house for another three or four days, but Erestor was already packing some of the things they would not use again, such as the warmer winter clothing used when they attended Elerondo’s party in the more northern part of Formenos.  Erestor smiled as he found the stack of drawings that Elerondo made for them over the weeks spent on holiday.  There were at least two dozen, but the one Erestor liked the best was one that featured him sitting at a desk and Fingon standing nearby.  There was a red and orange scribble cloud over stick-figure Fingon’s head, and the message ‘you ar 2 cute 4 sitting at desks all day!’, which was a combination of Fingon mentioning several times that Erestor looking grumpy, as Elerondo noted, was really Erestor being cute according to Fingon, and a particularly nice day when Fingon insisted that Erestor come outside when he was sitting at a desk reading an unbelievably interesting scroll about politics in the Second Age of Valinor in Ereinion’s den.</p><p>‘Erestor?’ </p><p>Erestor sat up straight in his chair.  ‘Gildor?!’ </p><p>‘How are you?  How is Fingon?’</p><p>Erestor leaned forward and glanced through the doorway.  He could see that Fingon was lazily washing his arms and humming a bathing song.  ‘What is wrong, Gildor?  This is not polite social contact you are making.’</p><p>‘No deceiving you.  It is Glorfindel.’</p><p>The name almost sounded foreign, but at the same time, he was awash with memories.  ‘What happened?’ asked Erestor as his stomach churned.</p><p>‘He is here at Elrond’s house.’</p><p>‘He is injured.  He almost died?  The theatre… what theatre?’</p><p>‘Slow down, Erestor! I promise not to keep anything from you; please do not delve into my mind!’</p><p>Erestor mentally pulled back, realizing the violation.  ‘Sorry.’</p><p>‘Fingon’s old theatre collapsed.  Glorfindel is not in the best shape, but he is conscious, and Elrond thinks he will pull through.’</p><p>‘What was he doing in that old theatre?’</p><p>“Erestor?  Can you bring another towel?  These are not big enough for my hair,” called out Fingon.  “I am going to drip all over the floor…”</p><p>Erestor shook his head and blinked.  The connection to Gildor was suddenly lost, and he made an attempt to reach out, but his hands were shaking and his concentration minimal.</p><p>“Maybe we could take a look in some of the shops and pick up a nice souvenir for Círdan.  He is always so good about taking care of the farm and the dog and Asfaloth while we are away.  I saw a ship in a bottle the other day, but I fear that might be too cliche.”  When Fingon received no reply, he called out again.  “Erestor?  Are you alright?”  </p><p>Aware of the attempts Fingon was making to communicate with him, Erestor slowly stood up and retrieved another towel on his way back to the washroom.  He clutched it to his chest as he walked through the door in a daze.</p><p>Fingon gripped the tub and stood up slowly.  “Eres?”  </p><p>Erestor’s gaze fell to the water momentarily.  He looked up, lips contorted in an uncertain expression.  “Glorfindel.”</p><p>Despite being naked and dripping wet, Fingon set a hand on Erestor’s shoulder to steady himself as he hurried out of the tub.  He dug his other hand under the towel to find one of Erestor’s hands and held it.  “What happened?”</p><p>“He almost…”  Erestor blinked the tears away.  “He…”  He lifted his free hand and wiped his eyes.  “Elrond has him right now.”</p><p>Fingon clenched his teeth in an attempt not to shiver.  “Is he… I mean, how bad is it?”</p><p>The slightest tremor seemed to awaken Erestor, and he hastily shook out the towel and draped it around Fingon’s shoulders before he drew him closer.  “Well, he… it sounds as if he is not as bad as I was,” said Erestor as he helped Fingon to dry off.  “He is aware.  I have no idea what the extent of his injuries are… all I really got was ‘broken’ and ‘collapse’ and ‘depression’.”</p><p>“Leave it to Glorfindel to blame himself for the accident,” said Fingon.  He took a deep breath.  “How is Faelion holding up?”  When Erestor did not reply, Fingon’s eyes widened.  “Oh… oh, no, something happened to him, too--”</p><p>“No.  Well… maybe?  But not that?”  Erestor frowned.  “I did not get the entire story; Gildor was being slow telling me, and I… did a thing I should not have done,” he rushed.  “I was… poking around.  Not intentionally; I just--”</p><p>“Is Faelion alright?” asked Fingon as he reached around Erestor to pull another towel from the pile; this one he wrapped around his waist before he grabbed another for his hair.    </p><p>Erestor stepped to the side, and the odd expression was back.  “I get the feeling he might be gone.”</p><p>“Gone?!  Oh, no.  Glorfindel must be devas--”</p><p>“Not that sort of gone,” interrupted Erestor.  “I think… something happened between them.  I think he abandoned Glorfindel.”</p><p>Fingon’s expression darkened.  “Oh.”  He took a deep breath.  “I see.”  He turned away for a moment, though he continued to pat his hair with the towel.  “That explains the depression.”</p><p>“I suppose it would,” said Erestor.</p><p>Fingon turned back around.  “Do you want to visit him?”</p><p>Erestor looked conflicted.  “I wish I had more information.”</p><p>“Well, when you were healing, he did at least come to visit.  Sort of.  Intentions were a little… questionable, but my gut blames that on Faelion.”  Fingon waited for a reply.  When none was received, he asked, “Do you still love him?  Be honest with me.”  Fingon held back a moment before he added, “Because honestly?  I miss him.”  He pulled the towels closer, feeling a chill. “And you are allowed to miss him more than me.  You can also respond with--”</p><p>“I do.”  Erestor bowed his head.  “I mean, I do… still love… I was married to him… we spent a lot of time together… uughhh… but you know, I love you mo--”</p><p>Fingon was quick to silence Erestor with a finger over his lips.  “Love does not have rankings.  It just has groupings.  You still have love for him, either in friendship or companionship, but something still exists.”  Fingon moved his hand to cup Erestor’s cheek.  “Whatever it is, it means you forgave him, and I think the only reason I can forgive him is because you forgive him.”  Fingon kissed Erestor sweetly, then turned and retrieved his comb.  “I will explain to Ereinion if you finish with the packing.”</p><p>“Packing?”</p><p>“Glorfindel.  We should go see him.”  Fingon waited until Erestor nodded before he added, “We should bring him home.  If it turns out Faelion left him, that is.”</p><p>“You...you would...bring him to our home?”  Erestor held his breath. </p><p>“If that is what you want, yes.”  Fingon hugged the towels closer.  “I love you, Erestor, and I know you love him.  And...I am not going to come between you.  You have a great capacity to love.”</p><p>“What about our engagement?” queried Erestor. “What about...tonight?”</p><p>Fingon pulled Erestor close and clung to him.  They stood there in silence for a few moments as Fingon collected his thoughts.  “Being Elves has certain advantages,” said Fingon as he took a step back but kept his hands on Erestor’s shoulders.  “Now, Ereinion is good at keeping secrets, and Rog and Meleth will not talk it up to everyone if we ask them not to.  We can postpone an announcement.  We can still have our marriage night whenever we want, right?  I have waited this long; I can wait a little longer.  This is important.  I do not think either of us would be able to feel the full enjoyment knowing this information.”</p><p>“What if he...dies?”  Erestor was wringing his hands now, and looked up at Fingon questioningly.</p><p>“I guess we just need to pack faster and get going.  Neither of us are of any help to him here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I was able to tell him some of it, before I lost the connection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel registered that this was Gildor’s voice, speaking in tones not meant to be overheard. And yet in these early morning hours, sound could carry through the large house, just like it was doing now. There was nowhere for him to go, no way for him to move, so there he lay, staring at the ceiling, listening to his fate being decided in the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he say?” Elrond asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was not much of an exchange,” Gildor emphasized. “But he sounded worried. Panicked, almost, if his attempt to plow through my mind was any indication.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Elrond asked, eyebrow raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have known Erestor for a very long time,” the calm voice continued. “He did not mean to do that, and both ceased and apologized immediately. I think that happened because he still cares. I feel sure of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he has Fingon now,” Elrond cautioned. “I would not hope for too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gildor shrugged. “I am not hoping for anything. But it was right that he be told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Elrond sighed. “Yes, it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a door clicking shut in the distance reduced all further dialogue to murmurs and muffles. In his room, Glorfindel shifted a little, grimacing. Though he was well-covered with blankets, he still felt chilled. Not long did he dwell on it, though, for Elladan came in, bearing a candle. “Still awake?” Elladan asked kindly, lifting the blankets gently to check on Glorfindel’s extremities. He found that his patient’s feet were much cooler than he would like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I drift in and out,” Glorfindel answered, disinclined to either be overtly rude or to converse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Elladan soothed. “I will return. Your feet need warming; you will never sleep as they are now, and you need the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response was forthcoming, but the blond’s eyes followed him as he departed the room, then looked away. “Erestor,” he voiced so softly that it was barely audible even in his own ears. Would he come here? If so, it would be more than he deserved. The mere idea brought both hopefulness and pain. Perhaps he would be granted the favor of being able to confess his regrets in person, if Erestor was willing to hear it. And for the rest…he shook his head against fantasy. There was no ‘rest’; only an uncertainty of whether he still should be here when he had been so close to passing on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elladan’s return interrupted the meanderings of his unsettled thoughts. “Here, this will help.” The blanket lifted, and something blissfully warm was placed near to his feet. “Are you in pain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel shrugged, turning his head away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I will take that as a yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still Glorfindel said nothing, but sighed. Busily a dose of medicine was prepared, his left arm checked for swelling against the plaster cast, and the bandages on his right examined in the same manner. Every motion was caring, gentle, confident. He refused to meet Elladan’s eyes, but instead watched his hands work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here is your medicine, lean forward now a little for me.” The small cup was held to Glorfindel’s lips, and he obediently swallowed the concoction inside. “And now some water. Drink. It is important for your healing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arguing that he would just make more work for them when he needed to piss it back out held a certain appeal, but Glorfindel held his tongue. He was all but helpless right now, reliant on his caretakers for every one of his bodily needs. No matter what he felt, behaving with surliness toward Elrond or his family would achieve nothing. He swallowed the water after which he lay back and pretended to be falling asleep. More than anything, he wished to be left alone. It had been his intention to try to think a little more; scrape together what he could possibly say to Erestor if he did come here. While he had never felt he possessed a gift with words, perhaps a prepared speech would give him a prayer of expressing himself. But the medication and the lulling warmth against his feet made other plans, and soon his regular breathing was not a deception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking against the daylight meant that he had obviously slept. Deeply, if his grogginess was any indication. His uncooperative mind betrayed him, being unwilling to form complex thoughts. This was...miserable, but he was denied the peace needed in order to dwell on that. Elrond appeared with Elladan in tow, wishing him a good morning. First he was carefully moved to the bedside, and held upright. His eyes closed against his own inability, as he felt hands gently spreading his legs and placing his penis into the opening of a urinal. After, a warm cloth wiped him clean while another dried between his legs; then he was repositioned in the bed. Next would come spoon-feeding, more liquids, more medication, and if the past days had been any indication, the humiliation of emptying his bowels into a bedpan. They would tend to him for well over an hour, before he was left alone to rest for some time. And then the whole thing would begin all over again. He did as they instructed, never speaking unless asked a direct question concerning their physical care of him, and the answers came with as few words as possible. This behavior was the only compatibility he could find between two conflicting realities: not wishing to be patently offensive to those he had once called friends, and the strong conviction that it would be better had they let him die and spared everyone the bother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bones and damaged tissue would probably heal, and then what? The four walls of the room held no answers. His father was right, he could not return to Faelion now, regardless. That his husband had not even attempted to find him, apparently, bit deeply and yet provided a measure of reinforcement. That he was unwanted would help keep him from crawling home to more of the same. Later on he would slip away when he could walk again and his body could function. That would be for the best; he certainly could not remain here. Though being alone had ever frightened him on some level, diving headlong into ill-advised relationships had not served him so well either. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That is because you have always thought with your head, Glorfindel, and not the one sitting atop your neck, either.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That much was true. Or was it? Certainly, sexual desires rested at the root of many of his life’s choices. But it was more than that, surely? Had he not truly loved Erestor? How else had he never turned aside from wanting him, even in the long ages when Erestor remained out of intimate reach? Tears welled again, as shame roiled through him. Here and now, he had little right to reflect on love. Only soft, hitched breaths betrayed his bitter crying; this was better released now while he was left alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you mean to do, Sweetie, and I can not let that happen,” Gildor’s voice said from the corner of the room nearest the door and out of his vision. Stepping forward to where he could be seen he immediately sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s eyes were squeezed shut and his chin trembled. He had been in Gildor’s nets so many times. They were hard to escape when he possessed all his faculties; right now he had no chance. Had he been there the entire time?  Seen the shame of Glorfindel’s inability to care for himself in even the most basic of ways?  Of course.  Gildor was a healer.  He had probably been there for hours on end, for all Glorfindel knew.  “P-please do not do this to me.” Haunted eyes opened, pleading. “Please let me go. This is a waste of everyone’s time. It was not meant to work out for me, and I brought much of that on myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, Faelion could not work out for a…” a sudden frown furrowed his brows. “You cannot take all of that on your shoulders, however strong they are, and you were being mistreated.” With great gentleness, Gildor took Glorfindel’s hand.  “You were being abused. I could see that much.  I should have said or done something sooner.  He is not going to hurt you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not mean Faelion.” Those colorful eyes flashed with self-loathing. “I mean my entire life, which should have ended. I have no place here any longer. What are you going to do, Gildor? Follow me everywhere? Place me in bonds or lock me away so you can force me to eat and drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vehemence and instability driving what was being said was unexpected despite what Gildor’s father had told him and it took all his training not to outwardly react to the words. Erestor and Faelion were not the only ones to have selfishly abused the gentle good nature of this man. This was not Fin. Not the Glorfindel he knew at all but instead a crumbling facade. Apparently this was so much worse than he realized though he knew his father was not prone to exaggeration. “No, sweetie. None of those things.” Slowly, very careful not to jar or jostle anything that would hurt the patient, Gildor repositioned limbs and wove his arms behind Glorfindel’s back until he held him closely in a hug. One hand gently massaged at the neck which had to be sore and horrendously stiff – an involuntary whimper proved him correct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I was not a good man and disregarded you, Glorfindel. I did not remotely give to you as you deserved. I acted like the self-centered asshole that I was and gave no particular thought to the damage I did, beyond that I left you to Erestor to figure it out or not but again, my priority in all that was the one and only me. I have more than a few regrets and many of them bear your name. I am so sorry. You did not get here on your own, my very old friend, and it is more than time I made some effort on your behalf. If you think I can see you like this and walk away, well, I would not just be an asshole. I would be a giant flaming asshole with fireworks and sparks shooting out – I am thinking reds and oranges here, with a touch of yellow for effect – and Maedhros would find that to be overwhelming I think. I love him and I try hard to reel in the, uhm, me-ness. I really doubt this needs explaining actually. I do not love you the same way as I love my mate but I do love you. So I hope you can see that I am in rather a pickle as to your request, dearie.” Leaning back a little Gildor left just enough room to be able to see Glorfindel’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Glorfindel whispered, tilting his head forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guessing correctly, Gildor brought their foreheads together. “Sorry hon. I am still a difficult jerk, I know. But I am trying to be a better version of one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is so hard for me to say anything to anyone,” Glorfindel admitted. “I was horrible to everyone the last time I was here. I abandoned Erestor. I was...I was appalling. Their kindness...I am so ashamed. I really do not think you understand how much I do not deserve to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetie, I want you to listen to me. I made you go pretty out of it before we brought you here so I am not sure if you understand that I did not just study healing in the manner of Elrond, but that I apprenticed with my Uncle Eddi once I arrived in Valinor, making me doubly equipped to deal with body, and mind, though at this time I do not work as a healer. You need to understand something about healers – we have to heal. We have to heal like Salgant had to grab dainties off the dessert tray any times his fingers were not stroking harp strings...or Duilin. That is how bad it is – a compulsion, really. So it is not all about you. People need to be themselves. Secondly, as someone who has studied behavior in depth, while you may not see it, I do not believe you were not as in control of your choices as you think you were. Many of the people here are aware of that, including Elrond, and you are not being judged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I could tell you later if you stay with me. I hope so much that you do. If you leave this life intentionally, some of why will be laid at my feet and I plead with you not to do that to me –  since we are on the subject of things we deserve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, double shit. Gildor, stop it with the guilt trips. How long have I known you? Do you think I have not seen your games before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncertain, Gildor kissed Glorfindel’s cheek and carefully pulled back. No smile or jest sat anywhere on his features. “This is not a game to me though I can understand why the sum of my being an asshole is coming back to bite me in the cheeks right now.. All I can ask is for you to please consider what I said. I will bring you some tea, then let you rest.” Gildor settled Glorfindel more comfortably on the pillows and tucked him in before he walked around the bed.  “I will be back in just a few minutes.”  The door clicked shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Triple shit,” Glorfindel whispered to no one. He did not want to hear, but he had. “So much shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning, afternoon, and evening were all the same.  Only small differences alerted Glorfindel to the time of day.  Breakfast was a thin porridge.  Lunch was vegetable broth with rice or lentils.  Supper was more of the same, but usually a meat broth instead of vegetable.  Today included an unexpected change.  Glorfindel’s bandages were getting itchy, and apparently this discomfort had not gone unnoticed at lunch.  Elrond had methodically removed what he needed to and was replacing bandages and casts, depending on his assessment.  He worked quietly as Glorfindel did his best not to move too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gentle knock on the door frame alerted both Elrond and Glorfindel that they were not alone.  “There is a delivery from the market, and your wife is with them at the door and said that she needs you to get something from your study.”  Fingon shrugged.  “I know that is vague, but she seemed to be under the impression you would understand that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elrond nodded and set the cloth back into the basin of water.  Every few days, he had taken care to bathe Glorfindel himself to make sure it was done correctly, but it was a trying situation.  Most of his patients requiring this care were either in such a terrible state that they were unresponsive, glad to be alive and chattered away or spoke as much as possible, or had just given birth and were exhausted and appreciative (and in those cases, Celebrían often assisted in the process).  Glorfindel was practically mute, and it seemed almost uncaring of what Elrond did.  He would offer a ‘thank you’ at the end of each session, but it always made Elrond feel he had done more harm than good.  A break in the routine was welcomed, and he began to cover Glorfindel again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can finish,” offered Fingon, almost over-enthusiastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elrond paused with the sheet held up.  “Alright,” he said, and he drew it back again to the foot of the bed.  “Be sure none of the bandages get wet.  Also, the cloth needs to be wrung out regularly to keep it warm, and so that the water does not seep through the towels to the sheets.  When you finish--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--I need to make sure I gently roll him to remove the towels.  I remember from last time,” he said, careful not to mention that last time was due to Erestor being here.  It seemed obvious from the way Glorfindel turned his head that he already knew.  “Sorry to cut you short, but your wife was insistent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  These must be the healing supplies, then.  They must have sent someone who is picking up the herbs I have packaged for the vendor I work with.  Yes; I must go.  Thank you.  Glorfindel, I will return soon,” said Elrond, not expecting a reply, and therefore leaving without waiting for one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon came to the side of the bed and wrung out the cloth.  “Now, where did Elrond leave off?” asked Fingon, cleverly considering what other open-ended questions he could ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel turned his head enough to the side so as to avoid eye contact with Fingon, but not so far as for the gesture to be obviously dismissive or rejecting. But not a word was spoken. For a moment he felt confused. Was Fingon here? Well, obviously, but since when was Fingon here? Fingon...surely he was not also with...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cloth was already turning cold, and Fingon dipped it into the water again.  “Celebrían had a question for you, actually.  She wanted to know what you want for supper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, followed by “Anything.” Glorfindel’s voice was very soft, not easy to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon swallowed hard.  There were a lot of thoughts he had been keeping to himself, and maybe that was the trouble.  Slowly they started to make their way out.  “I missed hearing your voice,” he answered just as quietly.  “So does Eres.”  He closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath.  This was going to be harder than he thought.  “How are you healing?”  He began wanting to ask how he was feeling, but that seemed like a dead end question.  Fingon dipped the cloth again, and decided that Glorfindel’s knees seemed the least offensive place to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel felt his throat tighten in panic. He had lived with Fingon long enough to understand that he now had a determined questioner, and would find it extremely difficult to maintain his silence. He had a choice; to either begin speaking or refuse altogether. His wish to do the latter outweighed his willingness to do the former. Worse yet, though, was what Fingon had said. He turned his head further away, unable to help that his eyes clouded with tears at any suggestion that Erestor had missed him. He deserved no such thing, so it was only a painful reminder of the wreckage of his marriage with Erestor. He cursed that a tear rolled down his cheek, for to wipe it away would draw even more attention to him, if he could even manage such a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From Glorfindel’s knees, Fingon moved to his feet, for there were bandages on every limb to keep him immobile while bones and muscle healed from the catastrophe Glorfindel had survived.  “Sometimes, I find that aromatherapy can help with healing.  Is there a scent or fragrance that would be pleasing to you?  I know that Celebrían keeps some incense around,” offered Fingon as he worked.  Perhaps avoiding eye contact would help Glorfindel to open up a little, he reasoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The golden head shook No, and still said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon looked up when he did not hear an answer and caught the end of the silent reply.  Then he saw, in the candlelight, the tears, and immediately halted what he was doing.  Pulling his hand away, Fingon returned the cloth to the basin.  “Sorry.  I should have asked permission first,” he said quickly, and he cringed at the thought that the contact, clinical though it was, had upset Glorfindel.  “Elrond should be back very soon.  Should I, um--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ruined the tea again,” suddenly interrupted the mostly one-sided conversation.  Erestor was walking down the hallway, and could be seen passing by on his way to another room.  He continued to call out, apparently for Fingon, as he continued to walk, voice trailing off as he got further away.  “Maybe we can salvage the water?  I thought for sure that I-- Fingon?  Where did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon cleared his throat but did not respond, though the sound was enough to alert Erestor.  A moment later he was at the doorway, peering in with concern while holding a mug in his hands.  Fingon now chose to speak, and explained, “Elrond was called away, and I… just wanted to help.”  His voice sounded like a child caught with a broken vase at their feet and fresh-picked flowers in their hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Erestor set the mug onto a table near the door.  “You cannot leave him uncovered like that -- here, what were you doing?” he asked as he took the bedsheet and brought it up to cover Glorfindel, tucking him in just the way he liked it, and even leaning down without a second thought to kiss his forehead just as he had done so many times before.  It was the second after that Erestor pulled away, his look apologetic, uncertain, and hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not missed by Fingon.  “I am going to see if I can revive the tea,” he said, speaking slowly, keeping his gaze on Erestor until Erestor looked to him.  “You stay here,” he added, just in case Erestor might think it was a summons to join him.  Fingon slowly stood, hesitated a moment to say to Glorfindel, “I meant everything I said,” and then left the room, closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s breath hitched in a sob, but he forced himself to seize his opportunity. “Erestor,” spoke the strained and wavering voice. “Would you allow me to speak to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”  Erestor considered moving to a chair, but he was already here, and he had so very much longed to touch Glorfindel again.  He wanted to pull him close and tell him that everything would be alright -- but that nagging feeling was there, the feeling that Glorfindel would want him to take a letter to Faelion, or worse, summon him and bring him to the house -- to this room, only to take Glorfindel away again.  He took in a breath sharply, and sat down on the bed.  He was barefooted, so he pulled his legs up, too, and took great pains not to disturb the mattress so as not to cause Glorfindel any undue discomfort.  After adjusting himself, he reached out for Glorfindel’s hand, but only loosely touched his fingers, so that if Glorfindel wanted he could relax his hand and Erestor would know to pull his away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s body trembled at the yearned-for contact, but he froze into stillness. After a few deep breaths, he willed himself to begin talking. “I did not expect to live, when I was trapped under the wreckage. But while there, I had one profound regret. Before I died, I wished so much that I could apologize for what I did. I failed you. I broke my marriage vows to you when Faelion re-entered my life and I abandoned you when you needed me most. I will never forgive myself for my behavior, the pain I caused you, and the depth of my sins. I promised to walk at your side no matter what. I am so sorry.” Tears flowed freely now, but some inner strength allowed his words to be steady enough to be understood. “I do not ask you to forgive me for such a betrayal. I did not understand the hurtfulness of how I helped push you away. I did not understand so many things, until the same consequences were visited on me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will remain alone, which is what I have earned for my choices. Whatever becomes of me now, I have at least been granted to confess my wrongs to you. I am so, so sorry.” His head hung down, as his father’s words to him echoed in his mind. What a legacy for their family--everyone so, so sorry, when they could have had the discernment to do what was right in the first place. Maybe he could take some small consolation in being an idiot from a family of idiots, to all appearances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a lot of things Erestor wanted to say in reply, but they jumbled up together in a puddle of emotions, and he managed to collect himself long enough to ask, “Is that what you want?  To be left… alone?”  Erestor’s chin vibrated and his voice cracked on the last word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel could not restrain his crying any longer. The next words came out between sobs, the pitch of his speaking raised quite high. “What I want no longer has any bearing on anything, Erestor. It is what I deserve. I have ruined everything. I was bound to you and I sat back and watched while you were driven away. Trampled underfoot, and instead of defending you I just allowed it. Worse yet, at the time I wanted it. I have no words for the depths of my disloyalty especially when I know you would never have abandoned me. If you have found peace with Fingon, then he has given you what I cast aside. I will always feel gratitude, that he cared for you. That he showed you love when I did not.”  Whether it was out of weakness or unconscious and uncontrolled yearning, his hand moved to cover more of Erestor’s. One last touch to remember what he had lost, even though the gesture triggered a turmoil of emotional and physical pain. Clarity washed over him; he did not want to heal. Fading would be preferable to the life he now faced. Within the answer to Erestor’s question lay an insurmountable difficulty. No, he did not want to be left alone. But in his mind, no other choices remained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor took an awkward hold of Glorfindel’s hand, fingers not twined together neatly, but grasping in despair.  “So you would leave me again?” he whispered, also crying now.  “Do you realize why I am here?  Why Fingon is here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave you again?” Glorfindel echoed, baffled. “I do not understand. You have Fingon. I...please tell me that he is treating you well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course he is,” answered Erestor.  “Of course he is, but Fin… we miss you so much.  I was--when I finally woke from that horrible nightmare, I expected everyone to be done with me.  You have no idea, the capacity that Fingon has for love.  So, yes, he is treating me well, and yes, we found peace because I thought there was no hope.  Yet here you are.”  Erestor lifted his free hand to wipe under his nose.  “I am too fucking old to play games anymore, Glorfindel.  Please, do not make me choose between the two of you.  We both want you to stay-- with us.  Not just until you are well.”  Erestor started to bring Glorfindel’s hand to his lips, but realized with the bandages it would be painful, so he bent down to kiss his hand.  “Please?  I know this is my last chance.  I do not want to lose you ever again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Glorfindel heard shook him to his core. It was not possible. Surely he was misunderstanding somehow, twisting words into what some part of him wanted to be the case? All his incredulity distilled into the single question he asked Erestor: “You still want me, after what I did to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you ask such a thing of me?  Think of all we went through.  All we are...still going through.  I did far worse,” was the answer.  “And I cannot even remember half of it, but I know I did it.  I wronged you in so many ways, Fin.”  Erestor bowed his head.  “I thought the reason you were not talking was because you wanted me to go.  Celebrían insisted we stay.”  Erestor sighed.  “I thought you would finally find the happiness you deserved with Faelion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel’s head shook No and he looked away. “I did find what I deserved--I see that now--but it was not happiness. I will find a way to die rather than be sent back there. As for the other, you were the only person to whom I had anything left to say. My words were for you alone.” For a short time he paused, doing his best to place more of his hand in Erestor’s despite the discomfort. No medicine could have done as much as the simple kindness of Erestor carefully cradling his hand between both of his own. More tears fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Faelion used and hurt me, Ress, so many times. He took my life away. I tried but I could not give him what he wanted. Then the day came when he locked me out of the bedroom.” The blue-green eyes met the dark ones, with Glorfindel’s heart full of honesty.  “I would do whatever you ask of me, only because you ask it. I have incurred a debt to you that I can never repay.” Deep down he knew the other things Erestor told him were true, but nothing about that admission felt like it altered his own circumstance. “I would never ask you to choose me over your lover; I have no right to demand anything at all of you. If having me is your wish, then I am yours.” His voice dropped, laden with misery. “Had I paid attention to my conscience, I would have understood that Faelion’s return did not change to whom I belonged.” Tears that were blinked back welled in his eyes . “I should speak to Fingon. I owe him an apology as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For most of my life, you have been there.  I do not want to live the rest of it without you.  Fingon does not want a life without you, either.”  Erestor licked his lips and sniffled.  “I love you, Glorfindel, and I know I never said that enough.  I never said it as much as I should have.  I never said it when it mattered the most.  I love you.  Please, come home with us, when you are able.  When you are healed, we can all go back to the cottage together.  Or somewhere else, if that place does not suit you.  I made so many of the decisions for us since we arrived.  I just want to be with you and with Fingon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sob erupted into Glorfindel’s currently useless hand.  The other equally non-functional limb reached for Erestor. “I have spent most of these last years knowing that I loved you still, but I lost any right to you. Fingon...I liked him very much. After Faelion came I...I could not see clearly then, Ress. I was trying to recreate an impossible past instead of seeing the present as it really was. Things were not good between us, and I ran away to where I thought there would be no more troubles. It was wrong and I am so sorry, and I pray that someday you might forgive me for what I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgive you,” Erestor said immediately.  “Everything.  I forgive everything, and request you forgive the hurts I did to you.  Someday, when you are--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not someday.  Now.  I love you and I forgive you and I want to be with you.”  Glorfindel let out an ugly sob and admittedly shamefully, “I would give most anything if you would hold me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears began to stream down Erestor’s cheeks anew.  “I wanted to hold you… the moment I heard… the second I saw you here…”  He slid his legs down and eased his body beside Glorfindel, and then so very slowly and carefully edged closer instead of pulling Glorfindel to him, mindful of the state he was in.  “I want you… in my life… not just… part of it… I want you and Fingon… to be my life.  I love you both.”  Erestor was able to reach Glorfindel’s neck and nuzzled him.  “No dwelling… on the past… just looking… forward…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ress.” A flood of emotion surged through Glorfindel. “I have no way to thank you,”  “Eru bless your kindness,” “Love you so much,” and “I shall never waver again…” were among the broken and barely coherent snippets that flooded into Erestor’s ears between sobs and tears. Glorfindel could not hold Erestor with his broken forearms or wrists, but he demonstrated that there was strength left in his upper arms. Elrond would pitch a fit, were it seen that he was doing this. Glorfindel could care less. This moment meant more to him than any aspect of his medical care, and would bring more healing than a dozen doses of herbs or bandagings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and Elrond nearly stepped in.  He took a quick look around, offered only a curt, “Good,” and then closed the door behind him.  The pair continued to lie close together, or as close as they could get considering the circumstances, with Erestor wiping both of their tears with his fingers.  They were interrupted again a few minutes later when the door once more opened, but it was Fingon and a tray with tea.  “I brought three cups, but I can take mine back out if you would rather I not be here,” he offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Glorfindel said. “Please, I need to speak with you. Erestor, could you help me to sit up? I am…” a guttering noise of frustration escaped him. “Unable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon hurried to set down the tray so that he and Erestor could both assist.  “Eres, hold on,” advised Fingon midway.  “You sit up on the bed, yes, like that… and then Glorfindel can be in your lap like this and lean against you, because you are softer than the wall.”  Fingon helped to carefully position Glorfindel while Erestor made sure that Glorfindel’s hair, bound up in a number of messy braids, did not get tugged or tangled on anything.  “And I… will pour tea,” offered Fingon.  “I know Eres takes his with honey… how do you take yours, Fin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue-green eyes stared back at Fingon with undisguised astonishment. “A little sweetener, and lemon if any is to be had. And cream, or milk. But I can do without just as well,” he hurried to add. Mostly he was trying to sort out that he had just been called ‘Fin.’  The honor of being referred to in the familiar, the gifting of the nickname once claimed by both of them, which Fingon had argued playfully in years past was rightfully his on account of being older, did not go unnoticed by Glorfindel, who fought not to start crying again at the undeserved compassion shown to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have cream, honey, lemon, cinnamon, ginger, mint leaves, and Celebrían even let me filch some sugar from the pantry,” detailed Fingon.  “Lemon… cream… and did you want honey or sugar?” he asked as he stirred the thin spoon in the tiny cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel looked at Erestor helplessly, mentally boggled by all those choices. His mind was screwing up the courage to ask Fingon’s pardon for his past actions; how was he supposed to choose between honey and sugar? A pleading expression came over his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants honey,” Erestor said with finality, enjoying the relieved look on Glorfindel’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is hard for me to focus,” Glorfindel apologized, suddenly self-conscious. “Before I lose what little I have...Fingon…” He inhaled deeply, and an involuntary shudder ran through his body. “The last time I spoke to you was under this roof. The things I said to you were accusatory and in view of how I myself was behaving, beyond hypocritical. I am so ashamed of those words, and plead for your pardon. You did everything for Erestor that was my responsibility, and instead I abandoned him. That he is even here I owe to you. I deserve nothing, and yet I am told by the one I am most indebted to that he wants me in your lives. You have said the same. First I need to apologize. I am deeply sorry for my wrongs. If you take me in, I pledge my faithfulness to both of you for as long as you will have me. I will not leave you, unless you send me away.” Still he was lost in a fog of self-recrimination, and reconciled what Erestor wanted by telling himself that he could earn his keep. Care for the household chores for them, earn his way by engaging in some kind of work, do what he could to ensure their physical comfort. That there might be more seemed distant, ephemeral. Not something he could truly yet embrace or believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon did not speak until he had handed Erestor his tea, and then brought Glorfindel’s to him, but held it for him to sip.  “Let me know when you want more,” he said as he set it down on the table.  Fingon himself poured a small amount of tea into his cup, then brought out a flask and topped it off.  He took a seat by the bedside and swirled the tea with his finger, then sucked off the excess.  “Are you familiar with the five stages of grief?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have heard of it, but that is all.” Glorfindel answered in confusion. Here he sat on tenterhooks, what did grieving have to do with anything?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.”  Fingon drank his concoction and hissed.  “Little too much brandy,” he decided as he stretched to reach the teapot.  “When we found Erestor in the alley that night, well… we revived him, and then here, he had to be revived again.”  As Fingon spoke, Erestor closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.  “All of that was very emotional for you, for me… for others,” he settled on, disinclined to speak the name they were all thinking.  “I know I was stuck in denial, and then I jumped to bargaining at one point.  You were briefly in the realm of denial and disbelief, but… someone who will not be named leaped right to acceptance and moving on, and I think that had some influence on you.  Instead of having time to process what was going on, you went very quickly to anger.  You were grieving, and I cannot fault you for that.  There is nothing to forgive, darling, but if it helps you move forward, then yes, I forgive your words and actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does,” Glorfindel answered, averting his gaze downward. “Thank you, Fingon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask something of you?  And you can say no if this is too soon,” cautioned Fingon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can.” Glorfindel’s guileless eyes regarded him with curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May we stay in here with you for the duration?  I talked to Elrond about a cot for me against that wall because I am not sure that the size of this bed is conducive to more than two people, and I think Erestor intended to sleep with you in the bed.  If that bothers you at all, though, or if this is too much to ask too soon, neither of us is going to think ill of you for saying no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you may,” Glorfindel answered. Already he had committed in his heart to giving whatever they wanted of him. “Could I bother you for some more tea, please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes,” said Fingon, and he set his cup down in order to retrieve the one for Glorfindel.  He patiently tilted it ever so slightly for Glorfindel to drink, and then placed it back down again.  “I have a second request, though perhaps ‘request’ is an odd word for it.  May I wash your hair for you?  If not tonight, then perhaps tomorrow?  As someone with long hair, I can only imagine the dust and debris caught up in it, and I feel a bit responsible for the ‘how’ part of all of this.  And if I had not already felt that way, certainly the messages I have received from Finrod would have done so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may but...it is a horrible chore. I…” the blond trailed off, considering. “It would be very nice; I cannot care for it. Thank you, for whatever you choose to do.” Truthfully, this sounded far better than nice. He yearned for this but would not request it of anyone. With his broken bones, he could not scratch at his dirty, itchy scalp. Someone had combed it at least once, and plaited it into braids, but constantly he felt tormented and bothered. Those sensations were endured as another sort of penance for his many failures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case, as soon as tea time is over, I will beg a wash basin from our kind hosts and set to work.”  Fingon took another sip from his teacup, set it down, and offered Glorfindel more from his.  “Oh, and Celebrían truly does want to know what you would like to eat for supper, and ‘anything’ is a dangerous answer, because she could end up making cabbage soup, and we all know how much you like that.  What should I tell her?  It sounded as if she really wanted to make you something you would enjoy.  Elrond graduated you to solid foods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” Glorfindel laughed, a little. “It was easier to be silent.” He gazed at Erestor. “There is a dish I used to make. It is not hard. It is hard-boiled eggs, and small boiled potatoes. And then a gravy to go on top. It is nice made with chicken stock but a vegetable gravy is just as tasty. Lemons and capers help make it nice, if there are any of those. And mustard, that is the secret ingredient for the gravy. To eat it people take as many eggs or potatoes as they wish, mash them up, then ladle the gravy heavily on top. It is quite nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each ingredient and step had Fingon cringing a little more.  “Does this… culinary delight,” he managed to express, “have a name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mustard Eggs,” smiled Erestor. “And if I am not mistaken, he is asking more for my pleasure than his own. The truth is, Fin likes most anything that is well-prepared. Am I right, love?” He asked the question with his fingers gently hooked under Glorfindel’s chin, so that he could not look away and had to meet Erestor’s eyes. Glorfindel nodded shyly. He would not lie to Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful,” said Fingon, face still contorted.  “I am going to go and let her know right away, lest I forget some crucial part of that.”  He was sure to provide Glorfindel with more tea before he left, and took his own cup (and the flask) with him when he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did not think it was wonderful at all,” Glorfindel remarked to Erestor once the door was closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dark ellon chuckled. “I have come to understand in my time as his partner that his preferences concerning food are as still waters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What could I have asked for that would have pleased him?” Glorfindel wanted to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor’s hand reached forward to stroke the golden hair that he had missed so much. “You should not worry about it. The question is what did you want to eat.  Believe me--Fingon will not so much as try a sample of what was requested.  You will have only me to chase away from your portion,” teased Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish to please him, though.  I hope to do better--and I would ask, if there are things you know to tell me, better answers I can offer, please help me.  I owe much to him,” said Glorfindel.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor kissed Glorfindel’s cheek.  “I will do my best, but Fingon can be enigmatic.  Even I cannot always answer those questions. Save it for another day, Fin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between them, while Glorfindel’s thoughts drifted to and fro. A measure of disbelief suffused the jumble in his mind that his senses continually refuted. Erestor’s scent filled his nostrils. The steady beat of a heart vibrated against him, and the soothing touch of well-formed fingers caressed his skin. How had his worst nightmare changed to a dream from which he hoped never to wake? His eyelids became a little heavy, and unbidden returned the memory of his accident. The rage against the misfortunes that plagued his life, his violent reaction, and the blinding pain of the theater collapsing on him. The terror and loneliness of his predicament... the now unguarded images of Glorfindel’s praedormitium projected easily to wide-eyed Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reflexively, Erestor wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, instinctively wishing to shield him from the hurt. Without thinking, Erestor’s soft lips found the pale forehead, peppering small kisses there. “Fin. Glorfindel,” he whispered, determined to bring him away from such memories. “Come back to me, Fin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ress?” the small voice whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am here, baby. Nothing will ever take you from me again.” A single tear traced down Erestor’s cheek. He felt responsible for much of this. For surely he had been a cornerstone of Glorfindel’s unhappiness. Somehow, there would have to be a path through their problems, though he did not see it. Deep inside, he clung to a belief that Fingon could show them the way. He had to hope; there could be no more failures. Glorfindel had given most of his two lives and all of his heart unconditionally to Erestor, and he had not treated that sacred gift with the reverence it deserved when he first had it.  Second chances were scarce, and Erestor counted this closer to a third or fourth.  These and other difficult notions were driven down deep, banished from any further consideration in favor of something easier: “I love you, Glorfindel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, Ress.” A deep sigh came from the blond. He felt safe in a way he had very recently believed he never would again. “Fingon coming back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he is,” Erestor answered. “And we should show him that you finished your tea. Do you think you can take more of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Erestor smiling, the cup was carefully held so that Glorfindel could drink. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again, Fin.” A sense of wonder accompanied the tender moment. While the dark beauty wanted nothing more than to see Glorfindel well again, he relished this chance to care for him as one might a small child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better to hear yours,” Glorfindel murmured, finishing the tea. His head turned in toward Erestor, nuzzling him. “I have missed you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor wondered just how bad matters had been with Faelion, that not even a hint of regret for the missing ellon had been expressed. He had already noticed with hopefulness that Glorfindel wore no marriage ring, but now was not the occasion to inquire about such things. They had time, now. All the time they needed. Glorfindel’s promise to them had lifted every weight from his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a door opening heralded Fingon’s return. “Ah. Good. You liked the tea,” he beamed, removing the empty cups to the tray.  “Celebrían has agreed to your request, but she is also making some sort of bacon and tomato melty thing she said you like a lot.  With extra bacon.  I told her you could have mine, but only because I would be stealing Erestor’s bacon.”  Fingon sat back down and smiled.  “She suggested that we should eat, and then wash your hair.  Elladan is fetching a large basin and heating water and we figured it all out.  It will be about an hour, maybe a little less.  I thought I would draw the curtains and put out the candles so that you can rest -- well, so all of us can rest until then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, Fingon,” Glorfindel answered warmly. “I am a little tired.” He turned to Erestor hopefully. “I am sorry, I need help to lie back. Or I can stay like this. Whichever is best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever is best for you, darling,” crooned Erestor.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably lying down,” suggested Fingon as he stood to help with readjustments.  Soon, Glorfindel was stretched out comfortably with Erestor beside him, propped up on one elbow, and gently stroking Glorfindel’s face with one finger.  “I am going to take all of this back to the kitchen,” he said of the remaining items from tea.  “And… I think I am going to see if Celebrían needs some help,” he said, though his eyes lingered a moment at the bed, and it seemed if it had been big enough, he would have joined them.  “I will be back as soon as possible,” he promised as he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Glorfindel relaxed from the reassurance of Erestor’s touch. “Do not let me sleep through the meal. Please?” he asked, closing his eyes. But little point existed in answering; within seconds the pale lips parted and he fell into an easy sleep for the first time in a long while.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Last call for supper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice belonged to Celebrían, and it was several hours past the time Fingon had suggested they would eat.  Erestor stretched and yawned first, and then noticed that Fingon was in the dark room, too, curled up at the end of the bed near Erestor’s feet like one of his own house cats.  Glorfindel was stirring now, and Erestor gave a gentle nudge to Fingon’s shoulder with his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already ate, but Celebrían said she would keep something warm for the two of you,” came the mumbled reply, and Fingon drew his long legs in a little tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Erestor said drily. He now felt some need to make haste, to go to Celebrían. “Fin, I will be back in a moment, right after I talk to her. I did not mean to oversleep like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly waking, Glorfindel felt confused and groggy. He did not know where he was, and made the mistake of trying to push himself up on arms that rewarded him with very sharp pains. Stifling a cry his head fell back, as everything flooded back. This was perhaps too much in one day. Dammit, how could he possibly forget that he was injured? Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the throbbing to dull to something bearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Erestor left, Fingon crawled up, in the darkness, eyes closed, to where Erestor had been.  “Warm,” was all he said before he nuzzled up against Glorfindel, still mostly asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel stifled another whimper as the contact drove his arm to another burst of pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid stupid stupid how could he have been so stupid?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He knew Fingon did not realize what happened and--he gritted his teeth, determined to keep quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even the slight noise was enough to alarm Fingon, and he opened one eye slightly.  “Oh, fuck,” he scolded himself as he moved away and gently realigned Glorfindel’s limbs.  “Sorry… I have not slept in a week… I am sure you want to get out of this bed, but bed compared to sitting in a chair and dozing off occasionally wins.”  Fingon rubbed his eyes and stayed close without crowding Glorfindel.  “I tried the egg thing, but without the eggs.  And I held the gravy.  Mostly it was just the potatoes, but the potatoes were really good. Also, I just ate them raw,” he continued to groggily babble.  “Celebrían cooked yours already so I hope that was what you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not your fault,” Glorfindel insisted. “Me. Stupid. Sorry.” He sighed, after speaking through clenched teeth. “Wish I could hold you. But...why no sleep?” That part made no sense to him. Had they been here that long? Everything seemed jumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh.  Not as stupid as me.  Eres and I were on holiday when you were hurt.  I stayed up all night helping to wrap party favors and decorate a fucking freezing cold place for my grandson’s birthday, and then we got back to my son’s house, and I may have snuck away from my nap with Eres and stayed up to play cards with Ereinion, and then we found out about you, and obviously, I have been up from all of that.”  Fingon smoothed back Glorfindel’s hair.  “You had us worried, darling, you really did.  I somehow managed on coffee and cold showers, but that brandy in my tea knocked me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry. Had I known...I have been very selfish,” Glorfindel forced himself to realize. His insistence on remaining silent had caused him to be ignorant of others’ realities...but he felt he must . “Please rest now. I would...I would kiss your forehead if I could reach it. That sounds so pathetic. But I would.” The distress in his arms had abated to a deep throbbing ache now, something manageable. He crossed them carefully over his belly, and lay still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as sorry as I am for spending hours until dawn curling ribbons on packages that literally took two dozen children less than five minutes to tear off.”  Fingon eased himself back down again, this time being careful not to cause any distress.  “And your words are not pathetic; they are kind and honest, and I will cherish them.”  He stretched his neck and gave Glorfindel a peck on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel wanted to say more, but worried some or all of it would come out as nervous babbling. So he pursed his lips, lay still, and waited for Erestor to come and feed him. Or...whoever was going to feed him. He certainly was going nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Erestor entered, it was with a food laden tray.  “Celebrían outdid herself,” announced Erestor.  “She even had time while we slept to make you a cheesecake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon was already sitting up, and now took it upon himself to light candles and the lanterns.  He did so slowly, allowing all occupants of the room to adjust to the change.  “Eres, dear, did you bring food for yourself as well?” asked Fingon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but I thought I would help with--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can take care of Fin while you eat.  Remember; I ate already.”  Fingon moved the furniture in the room so that it would be easy for him to assist Glorfindel and also allow Erestor to be near, and then came back to the side of the bed to help Glorfindel sit up and to prop ample pillows behind him.  “What would you like to start with?  There is the egg thing and some little puffy things which I think are the bacon and cheese melts and some sort of soup and steamed vegetables--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are--”  Erestor shut his mouth and amended his next sentence. “We can share them if you want some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon picked up a spoon and poked at what was in the dish.  “Looks like sprouts and carrots and parsnips.  Not sure how you feel about those, but I know you hate cabbage and sprouts are probably cousins or something… moving on, there is buttered bread, and another serving of this eggs and gravy stuff which must be for Eres, and a bowl of nuts and dried fruit, and the cheesecake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please make sure Erestor has the food he can eat; I will eat any of it. Apparently you both have been running yourselves ragged on my account and I really cannot add that to the things already on my conscience.” Glorfindel smiled when he said it, but it did not take the wisdom of a scholar to realize he was only partially joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really can share if you want some,” insisted Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon looked back and forth between them.  “I can always make more of something.  Before things get cold, though, what would you like, Glorfindel?  Except, cheesecake is dessert… you have to eat something before cheesecake.  I am still in grandfather mode, and I had a lot of practice the other day telling small children they had to eat something before cake, and frosting did not count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eggs and gravy stuff please. If it does not revolt you, in which case, something you can stand the sight of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had kids.  You should have seen some of the things they ate that I fed them.”  Fingon picked up the bowl and used the fork to mash things together, then switched to the spoon.  “You should have seen some of the things they ate that were unsanctioned…” He scooped a little up.  “Let me know when you need something to drink or want to switch food or something like that.  Promise?” he said as he brought the first mouthful to Glorfindel’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” He opened his mouth, not certain what he felt about this happening to him. Fingon was being so kind. As Elrond and Elladan had done, but this was different. He liked it, and also felt scared. Everything that seemed too good to be true in his life usually was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a little while, Fingon carefully portioned out food and made sure nothing dripped into the blankets.  He even offered to zoom it at him like a dragon, as he told them he had done for Ereinion when his son was very small, but Glorfindel declined with half a smile.  Fingon continued with anecdotes and encouragement.  Partially this was to make sure that Glorfindel ate, and partially because he was searching for small talk conversation that would not be upsetting in any way.  Food seemed like a safe topic.  “I know that you hate cabbage and you like cheesecake.  What else is on the preferred list?  For that matter, is there anything I should not consider making for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel blinked. “Making for me?” Several years of cooking for Faelion nearly every day. Now in a matter of a few hours he was not only being spoon-fed by Fingon, but now cooking? This refused to process. “I, uhm, I--” Blinking some more, he began to flush pink, and glanced hopefully at Erestor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is hard for him,” Erestor explained to Fingon. “Cabbage is really the only thing he truly does not like. Also there was this one time with turnip greens, but even he admitted it was probably the recipe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded meekly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I can try everything is what you are telling me,” assumed Fingon.  “I do not think we ever talked about it, Glorfindel, but professionally, my parents are a cook and a baker who cater fancy affairs.  I can make things perfectly that I cannot even pronounce correctly, and I can make fruit look like flowers and vegetables look like fruit and cakes that look one color on the outside and and when you cut into them look like a rainbow.  You took care of so much of the cooking at the cottage, I did not have so many opportunities to cook for you.  I would like to change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am very privileged, then,” Glorfindel whispered, close to completely overwhelmed. It should not be like this, but right now the idea of someone doing all these nice things for him threatened to overrun his fragile equilibrium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you like cooking as well… what are some of your specialties?” questioned Fingon.  “I need to know if I have competition with anything.”  He continued to feed Glorfindel from the bowl of mashed potato and egg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm...I like to bake. Bread, and pies. Biscuits, crackers. Cookies, brownies. It is much of how I spent my time. But I probably am not nearly as skilled as you,” he said shyly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you bake… cupcakes?” Fingon grinned while Erestor rolled his eyes, sighed, blushed, and then laughed in spite of himself.  “I like cupcakes,” continued Fingon.  “I really like chocolate cupcakes, but I think I might like to try… like a nice golden cupcake--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you should make him a blond brownie,” cut in Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  I like that idea.”  Fingon scooped up more food for Glorfindel, then offered him some water when he realized Glorfindel seemed to be reluctant to ask for things, but knowing that he would need to keep hydrated as much as he needed to eat.  “Do you know how to make blond brownies?  And, chocolate cupcakes,” he hastily added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel ate the food brought to his mouth, but did not answer right away. “I know what you are trying to do,” he said slowly, not looking at Fingon. “Cheer me up. Make me feel included.” His voice began to waver and crack. “I cannot do what you want me to this quickly. I am sorry.” Now his voice hitched and fought to choke back tears. “I do not deserve any of this, what you are doing.” So much more wanted to tumble out, but he used what strength remained to quash those words. “Please give me time.” His breath came in surges, as he fought to wall off his emotions, already ashamed that this much had escaped his defenses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon’s attempt to feed Glorfindel paused.  He cast his gaze downward.  “You are included, whether you feel it or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fin,” Erestor whispered, catching glimmers of just how bad Glorfindel’s state of mind really was. “You will have all the time you need. It is not about what anyone deserves. We want to show our love to you.” Taking a guess, Erestor pressed on. “Please let us do this. We need this. I need this. We want to care for you, so badly.” He stroked Glorfindel’s upper arm, relishing the feel of his skin, and caught Fingon’s eye. Nothing was said for a full minute, while the blond worked to master himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Glorfindel nodded, swallowing hard. His breathing slowed, became calmer. “Yes I can make cupcakes,” he answered morosely. “They are some of the reason why you cannot see my ribs very easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cupcake is my pet name for Erestor.”  Fingon still held the bowl and spoon still.  “I was trying to make a little joke.  Sorry.”  He set the bowl down on the table.  “Maybe you should finish,” he whispered to Erestor.  With a quick squeeze to Erestor’s hand, Fingon touched Glorfindel’s shoulder lightly so as not to harm him or cause discomfort, and then he left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no...I am so sorry,” Glorfindel panicked in shallow breaths, tears falling as he realized the totality of his mistaken understanding. “Ress, I am just going to ruin everything. I am not…” he sniffled, wanting to twist his body away but unable. “I am not well right now.” His voice shook. “I did not mean to offend Fingon but I am managing to say all the wrong things. This feels hopeless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it hurts, sweetheart.  I know how unfair all this is,” added Erestor.  He moved the chair out of the way in order to stand by the bedside and get closer to Glorfindel.  “I understand hopelessness.  I understand fear.  It feels like nothing will ever get better, but you are the one in control now.  You make the decisions.  Not Faelion.  Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon entered back into the room, his harp tucked under his arm.  He was not alone, for Celebrían was with him as well, and she had a small cup of tea with her.  “I forgot to put this onto the tray,” she said softly as she brought it around.  “Just a little chamomile,” she added as she left it in Erestor’s care before she left.  Fingon, meanwhile, set up in the far corner of the room, and started to play long, airy chords very faintly while focusing on the curtains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel nodded and hiccupped, inwardly cursing his useless arms. He wanted so badly to cling to Erestor. He wanted so many things that did not seem possible at the moment. What he could do was lean his head against Erestor’s body and look mournfully at Fingon. “So sorry,” he whispered apologetically, to everyone and no one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh… you are just overwhelmed.”  Erestor blew across the top of the cup and tested the temperature with a tiny sip.  “It seems cool enough.  Would you like a little?  It might help.”  Across the room, Fingon continued to play harp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, sad blue-green eyes found Erestor’s. “Please. Tea. Not hungry anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”  Erestor carefully assisted Glorfindel in drinking the tea, while Fingon kept a careful eye on both of them now.  “Are you…”  Erestor stifled an unexpected yawn.  “Sure you…”  He shook off a second yawn.  “Did you at least want to try the cheesecake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe liddle,” Glorfindel said, hearing the slur in his voice and wondering. His eyelids felt heavy. Maybe it was his emotions, and the crying. They had gone to all the bother of making the cheesecake for him, and a bite did sound nice. Just one, surely he could manage that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can get it,” Fingon said suddenly as Erestor tried to reach for the plate (and missed) while still holding the tea.  Erestor stared into the teacup while Fingon came close and took the plate with the cheesecake.  “Smells good,” he commented as he scooped up some for Glorfindel to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmmmm,” Glorfindel smiled, now having a great deal of trouble focusing. ‘Thank you’ came out something like “thaggewww” before he slumped heavily toward Fingon. Probably he had swallowed the cheesecake. Hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?”  Fingon set the plate down and uncurled Erestor’s fingers from the cup.  “How about another sip to wash it down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mfghznkk”, Glorfindel answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whadd he said,” Erestor murmured, weaving a little where he sat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon handed the cup back to Erestor, gently wiped the corners of Glorfindel’s mouth, and eased him back down to lie in the bed.  “There we go.  I will get the dishes back to the kitchen, and the two of you can doze off for a little while.”  Fingon turned to see that Erestor was taking another curious sip of tea.  “Or, a long while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buddit tastezh good,” Erestor said, a little glassily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet it does.  Celebrían said she cut it with a little brandy...and Elrond’s special sleepytime tonic, so I think that is enough for now,” he said as he lifted the cup from Erestor.  “Time for bed -- can you make it around, or shall I carry you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help me?” Erestor whined. “Dohn twanna bump Fin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, cupcake.”  Fingon placed the cup safely down before he picked Erestor up.  “If you do not mind, maybe I will try to cozy up against you.  It would be nice to be able to sleep together this evening.”  Fingon placed Erestor gently on the mattress beside Glorfindel then fussed with the blankets and pillows as they settled in.  “I will be right back -- I am just going to take things out to the kitchen.”  Almost everything was gathered up onto the tray, with the exception of the mostly empty teacup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmmm wand dat,” Erestor smiled, carefully ensuring with the last of his clarity that Glorfindel’s injured forearm was safely elevated before snuggling against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel remained aware of very little but the warmth against his body. Instinctively he recognized Erestor. Erestor lay next to him, and he held fast to that glimmer of happiness. Seconds later, regular and deep breathing signaled his passage into slumber.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he finally woke, Glorfindel listened. The house seemed still; no sounds could be heard that would betray Celebrían working in the kitchen or the rest of the family working at their chores. Therefore it must be early, for a quick blink registered faint light in the room. The more surprising observation was that he was hemmed in by two warm bodies, both breathing with the deep regularity that indicated they still slept. So Glorfindel listened to that, too. Their presence seemed peculiar and unexpected and more welcome than he wished to admit to himself. They were nestled against him, something that in the past many weeks he rarely had from Faelion--when he was even allowed to sleep in what had been their bed. A hand grasped his left shoulder; he guessed it might be Erestor’s. The breathing from that direction seemed to be the familiar one. Fingon’s was just...different, though right now he felt at a loss to explain how.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel kept his eyes closed and tried to think, but thinking only led to lapsing back into sleep. What he did recall, briefly, was how much he regretted falling asleep because he had wanted clean hair rather badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several hours later, Glorfindel woke again.  This time, there was only one person beside him.  “Ress?” he ventured, still feeling quite tired despite the hours of slumber.  Erestor stirred slightly and sat up to place himself in Glorfindel’s view.  “I… uhm… I need…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little else needed to be said as Erestor found the chamber pot in short order and eased Glorfindel carefully into a standing position.  “Tell me if I do something wrong,” he requested as he bore the weight of Glorfindel and tried to angle him the right way at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is fine,” mumbled Glorfindel.  “I do not want you to hurt yourself,” he fretted as he made an attempt not to be so heavy, but imagined he was failing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh… I am not incapable of helping,” admonished Erestor.  “Just lazy at times.  Be glad for my ability to loaf around; I should have been helping Fingon bring water in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water?” repeated Glorfindel.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could it be?  Did Fingon remember his offer?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Glorfindel learned soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor cleaned off the errant dribbles from Glorfindel’s thigh before he helped him back into the bed.  As soon as Glorfindel was settled, Erestor revealed the plan.  “There is something light for you to eat, and then Fingon wanted to wash your hair.  He said he spent time picking bits of things out of it while we were sleeping.”  Only now did Glorfindel realize his hair was loose, no longer in the long braid it had been in for days.  “He should be back soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really appreciate this. And your helping me with all the stuff no one really thinks is fun. Thank you, Erestor.” Suddenly he felt terribly awkward all over again, though he could not exactly say why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor leaned in to kiss Glorfindel’s forehead.  “Would you like me to fetch breakfast for you, or stay here until Fingon returns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” Glorfindel felt embarrassed. Normal people could answer simple questions, and right now he really could not. His cheeks reddened as his indecision dragged on. Finally he settled on the one thing he knew he wanted. “Please do not leave me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart…”  Erestor sat down very gently upon the bed and took hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  He ghosted his fingertips over the back of Glorfindel’s hand as his lips trembled.  “I am never leaving you.”  He rolled his tongue across his teeth, debating the words, but they tumbled out.  “When you left… I wanted to leave that house.  Fingon took me back to get things, but when we got there… I worried… maybe I hoped you would come back, and if you did, and I was not there, how would you find me?”  Erestor drew his free hand under his eyes.  “I am… am not going to leave you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I had, Ress. Valar, I wish I had. I wish I could have known somehow,” Glorfindel said sadly. “I had no choices left. At least, that is what I believed.” His voice quickly had grown shaky. “Thank you for staying here. I should not think about...that. Having my hair washed sounds wondrous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor nuzzled Glorfindel as he eased himself back down to lie beside him.  “I will try not to be too jealous of his attentions,” Erestor teased gently.  “He is, as you may have guessed, quite fond of hair and I have a feeling he will enjoy washing it as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not have to be jealous,” Glorfindel said quietly, looking at him with considerable longing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers moved up to caress Glorfindel’s cheek and Erestor slid his tongue over his lips.  He kept his eyes locked on Glorfindel’s as he stretched closer, moving slowly, giving Glorfindel ample time to object.  When no negative comments issued forth, Erestor closed the gap between them and ever so softly kissed Glorfindel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft whimper of yearning escaped the injured elf’s throat, and his eyes welled anew with tears. How badly he had wanted this, even he had not understood. He pressed forward, raising his hand so that his fingers could touch Erestor’s head despite the discomfort, not wishing Erestor to think that this was anything other than utterly desired. When at last their lips parted, a few tears ran down Glorfindel’s cheeks. “Thank you. That was so kind of you. It has been so long since I felt like someone loved me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do love you,” whispered Erestor as the door opened to the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love me, too,” came the reply at the door before it was closed again.  Fingon was carrying an arm load of towels, which he placed on the table near the bedside.  “I mean, truly, I love the two of you as well, but I mean… how can anyone not love me, including me?”  He dropped down in the chair at the bedside and lowered his voice.  “Sorry.  I did not mean to interrupt.  You can continue,” he offered with a motion of his hand that caused Erestor to roll his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Involuntarily, a snort flew through Glorfindel’s nose as he laughed in spite of his current state of pathos. He tried hard to keep snot from flying anywhere but onto his own bandaged arms, yet somehow doubted he had succeeded. Wonderful. “Sorry,” he said to Erestor contritely. “What he said was funny.” A little giggle escaped just afterward, causing his cheeks to redden anew. He tried to clutch at the sheet with his fingers, to hide his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am also available for weddings, begetting day parties, and other assorted family events.”  Fingon already had a handkerchief in hand, and was tidying up the bandages and a spot on Glorfindel’s shoulder which somehow managed to have a bit of nasal discharge.  “I have a change in plans, because the water is hot sooner than expected.  I would like to wash your hair now, and then we are going to change the linens -- well, Elrond and Elladan are going to do that, the ‘we’ is loosely applied -- and then serve breakfast, so that you will be nice and clean and the bed will be nice and clean and Erestor will be… Erestor,” said Fingon with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You behave,” scolded Erestor playfully, to which Fingon answered with a rather drawled, “Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much for doing this,” Glorfindel told Fingon with great sincerity. “It has been… I really… “ he shook his head and sighed. “I am not so good at talking these days.” Suddenly he felt tired, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The memory of the kiss lingered, as did the taste of Erestor’s mouth. If only he could be kissed like that all day, but he felt like he had been audacious enough to hint at wanting just the one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon stood up again and moved the chair to the end of the bed.  “Talking is not necessary.  I mean, it is nice to hear your voice, but we are here to help you recover -- do not feel you need to entertain us.”  Fingon crooked a finger at Erestor.  “I need your assistance in rotating Glorfindel so that his head is over the bottom of the bed, and then I need you to sit there,” he said pointing at the chair, “and hold his head up for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I live to serve,” grinned Erestor, still borne on wings of joy. Glorfindel had not merely tolerated his kiss; such a passionate response was more than expected. Elrond had wisely provided for the inclusion of a square piece of soft but incredibly sturdy cloth that was centered underneath Glorfindel’s buttocks and lower back. With Fingon supporting some of Glorfindel’s torso, Erestor was easily able to use this cloth to turn the invalid ellon as Fingon wanted. Once he felt satisfied that the fabric was adequately restored to order, he followed the rest of the directions and happily took Glorfindel’s head in his hands. The trust and hope in those blue-green eyes threatened to spark more emotional displays, but he managed to contain himself at only bending down to kiss Glorfindel’s forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erestor’s expression did not escape notice. “I think you can give a better kiss than that,” Fingon intoned. In a rare moment of abandon, Erestor lunged forward to kiss Fingon instead. The generosity of his partner’s spirit still seemed hard to believe, though he knew it well enough. “Not me,” Fingon chuckled, “though I thank you for your favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Erestor whispered, misty-eyed and close to a fresh round of tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now kiss this beautiful blond man, or do I have to demonstrate for you?” Fingon’s mien seemed unreadably serious. Wide-eyed, Glorfindel looked helplessly from Fingon to Erestor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without further delay, Erestor kissed Glorfindel again, softly at first but more insistently, until he coaxed forth the first moan of want that Glorfindel tried so hard to stifle. “Like that?” Erestor fired back, grinning at Fingon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reeling, Glorfindel continued to stare at Fingon, not knowing if he had been serious or teasing. Erestor correctly interpreted the smatterings of emotions and mental images from Glorfindel. “He would be happy to kiss you,” Erestor explained. “But only if you truly wished him to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyly, Glorfindel nodded. He felt...curious, and...something else too, though he could not say what. Fingon lowered his body to give Glorfindel a far more gentle kiss. Not an entirely chaste one, but far less bold than what Erestor had just done. It conveyed acceptance, and love of a sort that defied easy definition. Glorfindel registered the taste and scent of Fingon, and how the affection made him feel. He liked it, much more than he thought he would. Nothing was said, but a gentle and happy smile now graced Glorfindel’s beautiful face. It was all Erestor could do, to keep from bursting with joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there are more where that came from,” promised Fingon.  He booped Glorfindel’s nose with his fingertip, and smiled down at him.  “I am going to let Elrond know that the water can be brought in.”  Fingon left the room momentarily, only to return with a large metal wash basin.  Elrond was behind him with two steaming buckets, and Elladan as well.  The latter two left with promise to bring more water, and the door was kept open for them as Fingon knelt down so that he and Erestor faced each other, Glorfindel between them.  “You have your choice of vanilla and honeysuckle or lavender scented,” said Fingon as he positioned towels at the foot of the bed, setting the basin over them.  Another towel was rolled up and placed on the bed to catch the expected dribbles of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lavender, please,” Glorfindel answered, still thinking about kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon the table were an assortment of bottles left there much earlier when Fingon had begun coordinating his task.  He now went there and brought a blue glass bottle back with him.  Before he knelt again, he stooped down to lightly brush his lips across Glorfindel’s, and then as he worked to wet the long tresses, he started to sing:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was lonely and alone; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In my house, but not a home</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Living in a fantasy, living in a dream; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Until the morning came and my sunshine awoke me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lavender Green, dilly, dilly, Lavender Blue</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you need help, dilly, dilly, I will aid you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A king without a castle, a lord without his land</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Once you stood with me, and now with you I stand</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon now worked to lather Glorfindel’s locks lovingly with the sweetly scented concoction.  He hummed the melody as he worked to ease the grime and dust away from Glorfindel’s scalp.  When he pulled a small bowl from one of the buckets and began to rinse the suds from the blond mane, he started to sing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lavender Green, dilly, dilly, Lavender Blue</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you are lost, dilly, dilly, I will find you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lavender Green, dilly, dilly, Lavender Blue</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you are sad, dilly, dilly, I will cheer you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lavender Blue, dilly, dilly, Lavender Green</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I love you, dilly, dilly, will you love me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Glorfindel listened, and here and there his chin barely quivered. Erestor carefully watched the face he knew so well, reading every expression as though these were the pages of a beloved book. “Fin,” Erestor spoke softly. “I want you to listen to me. Try to put aside all of the guilt and hurt that you feel right now. He is not singing that randomly. And before you try to tell yourself that you still deserve nothing--I know what it cost you, to fight at Fingon’s command in the war. Maybe no one else knows that your lingering, horribly painful condition was assured once you were injured there--but I do, and have not forgotten. I guess you could blame me, really, for being the cause of it--I could not let you go. Even though I could not--shit. Please give him a chance, Fin. Please at least...do not let wanting to heap recrimination on yourself overrule all of the good you have done in this world. You are so much more than what happened these last few years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears leaked from the outer edges of Glorfindel’s closed eyes, but he did not otherwise cry. He kept very still, trying to consider Erestor’s words. This was so much, so fast--but Fingon’s kiss had held more than any promise of lust. It had felt altogether different than any previous interaction with a potential intimate partner, and he had to at least consider that Erestor’s words held a truth that might unlock what seemed like a puzzle. “Will try,” Glorfindel managed to respond. For now, he willed himself to relax into Erestor’s hold, and try to appreciate the gift he was being given.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon was very quiet as he finished rinsing Glorfindel’s hair.  The basin was almost filled to the top, and he carefully kept Glorfindel’s hair elevated over the dingy water.  The words spoken by Erestor played in his mind, over and over, and he remained quiet even after Elrond, seeming to sense or perhaps hear they were in need of further assistance again, peeked in, called for Elladan, and assisted in removing the basin and the empty buckets.  Only when the door was closed and Fingon sat on the floor with Glorfindel’s hair draped over the fluffy towels in his lap and a comb in his hands did he remark, “The Nirnaeth Arnoediad was not one of my finer moments. I avoid reading about it, because there are so many inaccuracies.  I am particularly bothered by those that include the line ‘King Fingon was killed instantly’.”  He sighed.  “I do not want to make you relive those horrors, but as there was a lot going on, I realize I have no idea what befell the two of you while you were… briefly under my command.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. That,” Erestor sighed. “Well, if I were going to sum up, everything was going halfway alright until it was not. We stood side by side and took on a dragon that had to</span>
  <span> arrive </span>
  <span>when we thought we had</span>
  <span> come</span>
  <span> through in one piece. I am blessed to have more resilience than full-blooded elves. Glorfindel was hit very hard. His ribs were...it was bad. They were in pieces. I was...we were under orders to…” Erestor knuckled tears from his eyes. “Shit. Sorry. Under orders to finish off our own people who were near death. I disobeyed and more or less deserted my obligations in order to hide and care for Fin. There was just no way I was going to...shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped for a moment, to gain control of his voice. “It might have been kinder if I had obeyed orders. He was injured and we had no real medical care. We were far away from everything and to sum up, his ribs healed so that they were basically </span>
  <span>shredding his lungs with every breath</span>
  <span>. There was nothing the healers could do, and…” Erestor was close to completely losing his battle for self-control. “They told us he had a matter of some years depending on how careful he was not to strain his breathing, but that he was under a death sentence.” Erestor now looked away, as his own tears fell, and he tried to remember if they had ever really even talked about this aspect of Glorfindel’s last years in Gondolin. He did not think so; if they had he could not remember it. Gondolin had been...fucked, in so many ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know someone else who was under orders to… do what you could not, and disobeyed,” Fingon said as he recalled his own earliest years in Middle-earth.  “It is nice to see that… well, clearly, you loved each other very much, and still do.”  After a few strokes with the comb, he added, “I think you did the right thing, Erestor.  I mean, maybe you do not think so, Fin, but… I would have done the same thing that Eres did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did the right thing,” Glorfindel whispered. “Otherwise I could not have…” A deep sigh came. The rest of the sentence led down a dark mountain cleft. “I guess I avoid reading, too. All those accounts that claim to tell about how I died. They are only a version of the truth. I gave my life trying to protect Erestor. Whatever other good came of it was...just that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I reunited the House of Finwë and gave hope to everyone who wanted to overthrow Morgoth, and all I was trying to do was save my boyfriend.”  Fingon shrugged.  “Sometimes we are presented with obstacles in life where we do something self-centered that affects the greater good.  That is how I reconcile my failed relationship with Maedhros.  It was never going to be ‘happily ever after’, but it had to be so that I had motivation to rescue him.  I would like to think I would have done the same if it had been Maglor or Caranthir or someone else… maybe not Celegorm… who had been captured, but the truth is, after that ship-burning stunt, if anyone was going to kill my lover, I wanted that chance first.  Of course, when I saw what was done to him, it seemed penance enough, and upon finding that he was not part of that terrible decision, I had to forgive him and chastise myself for thinking he would have engaged in that behavior.  I am getting off topic, but I guess what I mean by that is, whatever you did, no matter the motivation behind it, you did it.  It certainly seems, though, that our final acts define us.  You died a hero and savior, and you should take pride in that.  I died a failure of a king, in over his head, and betrayed by many.  If only they had allowed me to stick with gymnastics; I would have been too enthralled with it that I never would have left.  Maedhros only stayed with me because of the promise that I would be done with the competitions at some point -- we were not together for a time in Valinor because he asked once whether it was more important that I win a certain event, or be with him, and I flippantly answered that there was only one person awarded the all-around title each year, but that there were other fish in the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch,” Erestor cringed, looking down. “Then I count myself doubly fortunate that I somehow rose so high in your regard. Especially since...well, I was an even worse asshole in my past, and Fin somehow wanted me in spite of it all. I want to think that I have learned that love is not something I will ever take for granted again. I could not see that until everything was lost. Now I do not understand how I could not have known that it is the only thing that matters at all.” He shook his head, shame written on his features while the fingers of one hand caressed Glorfindel’s cheek. He looked up meaningfully at Fingon. “I am so blessed.” No one spoke for a few moments, as Fingon continued his idle combing of Glorfindel’s perfectly untangled hair. “Fin, please forgive me. For all the shitty things I did to you, for the mountain of pain I caused you in both of your lives. It is harder than it should be for me to ask this; maybe I still am that asshole. Maybe there is a book somewhere, and a drawing of Erestor is featured next to the definition for ‘asshole.’ I mean to do better this time, and it cannot begin with me failing to confess how much I hurt you. I was horrible, and I know it now.” Erestor looked away, because he already knew what Glorfindel would say, and that it would feel as though he had gotten off too easily--or perhaps he was counting on this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I forgive you. How could I not when you have forgiven me? None of that seems to even matter now...but I thank you for saying this to me. I have...I have always loved you. Even when I did not. My heart was lost to you within – did it even take all of one day? – of when we first spoke.” He snorted, suddenly recalling a fond memory. “It was when you fell off the horse into the mud puddle. In Gondolin. You were so forlorn and beautiful. Obviously there were others. There was Gildor, for all of those years--of course with Gildor, I was little more than his plaything.  What was it he liked to say about me? ‘Best fuck I ever had.’ So tender and romantic. And then there is Faelion.  That is not to say all of my relationships were complete fuck-ups.  Some were...nice...sweet, even.  None of them were you, even when I tried to believe there was something more to be had apart from you. Even when being with you hurt, it hurt because of how much I loved you.” Glorfindel met Erestor’s eyes, and wished so much that he had real use of his arms. He wanted to hold Erestor, but the best he could achieve was to slowly reach toward him and bring his fingers into some contact with his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Glorfindel.  We have been part of each other’s life...lives, I guess...for so long.  Twined together, no matter where we wandered, we always ended up back on the same path together.”  Erestor cuddled up beside Glorfindel.  “I want to stay on the same path from now on.  All three of us, until the end of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingon set the comb aside and smiled.  “How about we start with being snuggled together in the same bed for now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. As you wish it,” Glorfindel conceded at once, overwhelmed. “Anything. Thank you for the towels comb. Brushing wash.” Glorfindel stared. “Hair. So nice. Thank you.” The blue green eyes turned up to Fingon with appreciative adoration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the shadows of the hall, Gildor was trembling.  While both he and Maedhros had overheard the entire discussion--eavesdropping had not been the plan, they would both later tell the other, it just happened on their way to the kitchen--the tall redhead did not seem particularly emotionally impacted by the words Fingon had spoken about him.  Glorfindel’s assessment of Gildor, however, had affected his ex-lover.  Before further conversation could be heard, Maedhros motioned that he and Gildor should move elsewhere, and soon they were outside.  Maedhros lifted his outstretched arms and Gildor practically collapsed against him.  “I am sorry you had to hear that,” he said as he kissed the top of Gildor’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was all going to catch up at some point.”  The words were choked out as little squeaks.  “I promise, I was not that big of a monster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, people say what they perceive, especially in or after traumatic experiences.”  Maedhros wrapped his arms tightly around Gildor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not understand,” Gildor whispered. “He spoke the truth. I treated him exactly like that. I am not the same person now. Or am I?” Long-buried guilt and a conscience that had more wisdom, less arrogance recalled many things to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sweetheart, you are none of those things.  Just as I am different than the person I was in the First Age, you have also grown.  I think all of us have, but...the past lingers, those three are looking for ways to justify whatever their future is to be, and as much as I want to knock the door down and demand apologies and remind them that but for our interventions they would not have been reunited like this...but does it matter?”  Maedhros kissed Gildor on the top of the head again.  “You have me, Gildor.  You will always have me.  I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Mae Mae. But...a time will come when I will need to say more. It just will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I will be here when you do, right beside you, every step of the way.”  Maedhros gave Gildor a tight hug.  “Maybe we should go home for now.  We can let your father know that we just need to get to our own home, and need to take rest, and none of that would be lying.  And we can skip telling him about the wounds to our pride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That...might be for the best.” Gildor held on tight. “Please do not hold this against Glorfindel. I deserved his words and more. We have not seen each other in a long time. Not really. And then to meet as we did...I know he was grateful, for what he could be. Please have compassion. He is not in a good place. I cannot say more except, please take us home so I can sleep next to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all need some time.”  Maedhros caught sight of his cousin and father-in-law down the beach. “Come.  We can say our farewells, and then be on our way.  Perhaps some day, we can attempt a more pleasant reunion.  For now, I shall strive to grant your wish and have you tucked into bed with me before nightfall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are my hero,” Gildor murmured, nuzzling and peppering kisses all over his husband’s face before reluctantly sliding back to the ground. With a sigh and one more loving kiss to the back of his hand he echoed the word. “Nightfall.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>